


Dejah Thoris, Princess of House Mormont

by Sploot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Barsoom - Edgar Rice Burroughs, Game of Thrones (TV), John Carter (2012)
Genre: Bear Island (ASoIaF), Bechdel Test Pass, Crossover, Death by Spork, F/F, F/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Widespread Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 90
Words: 482,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sploot/pseuds/Sploot
Summary: “You doesn’t look that old,” Gilly said, “’cept for your eyes. They’s seen a lot.”“We live much longer lives than your people.”“How many years has you?”“You are my keeper of secrets.”“That’s right.”“Eight hundred and two.” I believe this to be correct; I had lived for 441 of Barsoom’s much longer years when I arrived here.“Hope I’m still pretty when I’m eight hundred and two,” she said, unfazed by my extreme age. “Or even two-and-twenty.”“How old are you, Gilly?”“I don’t rightly know,” she said. “I guess seven-and-ten, or maybe eight-and-ten.”“You are still a girl,” I said. I had thought of her as a woman, but she was no more than a year older than Jory, if that.“I was never a girl,” she said. “You grows up fast north of the Wall. Or you doesn’t grow up at all.”---John Carter and Dejah Thoris of the Burroughs novels are mis-directed to the world of Game of Thrones, fulfilling two separate prophecies. Carter is a Confederate officer; his ideas might be considered unenlightened. Dejah is very good at killing people, but she feels bad about it.





	1. Chapter One (John Carter)

_If people were paid for writing rot such as I read in some of those magazines then I could write stories just as rotten._  
\- Edgar Rice Burroughs

 _And I tried to remember any case in the course of my reading where two women are represented as friends. . . . They are now and then mothers and daughters. But almost without exception they are shown in their relation to men._  
\- Virginia Woolf

George R.R. Martin and Edgar Rice Burroughs created these worlds and characters.

Chapter One (John Carter)

Only many years later did I recall what happened that night.

Maybe it was the shame, and I took refuge in the forgetting. I had what would have seemed the perfect life. I revel in the joy of battle and I had been named the Warlord of an entire planet, known to its people as Barsoom and to my people as Mars. Now to be sure, a good deal of said planet rejected that title, but its most powerful nations did not. I had married a beautiful princess who adored me. I had won glory, I had friends, and I had every pleasure a society incredibly more advanced than my own could offer: machines that delivered music, food, drink or moving pictures at a spoken command. And still I wasn’t satisfied.

In my dimly-recalled life in Virginia, and even-more-dimly recalled lives before Virginia, I had loved many women. I knew this, even as I forgot their names and their faces. I had enjoyed their company, I had enjoyed their bodies, and I had enjoyed my role as their protector. I had killed uncounted other men in their names, sometimes at their bidding, sometimes against their desperate pleading.

And then I had been gifted with a princess. She had seduced me, I later realized, at the instigation of her grandfather, the ruler of the planet’s most powerful state. He wanted my sword to lead his fleets and armies, and instructed his beautiful granddaughter to gain it by any means necessary. Never had I seen a woman of such perfect form, blessed with such physical grace. I married her, besotted with what I thought to be love and still not fully understanding what sort of bond I had entered.

As a gentleman of Virginia, I had not pressed my physical needs on her until after we had wed. Only then did I discover that I could not do so. For as much as the people of my new home planet resembled those of my birth world, we were not the same.

They were not human.

That my new wife was beautiful could not be denied. Her face, her bosom, her long and smooth legs - all of these were so exquisite as to drive any man wild with desire. Like all noblewomen of her people, she went about barely clothed, enflaming my passion. She was almost as tall as I, perhaps a shade over six feet, and while I had thought true feminine beauty to rest in the petite I could not deny the sheer carnal power of her presence.

Vaguely, I had understood that women of Barsoom did not carry their young in their bodies, like the women of my own race, instead laying eggs that would incubate and hatch in special nurseries. Not until our wedding night did it become clear to me that this also meant that my lovely wife, my beautiful princess, could never enter into true marital congress with me.

She tried to satisfy me with her tongue, her long, blue lizard-like tongue. I allowed her to do so, though the memory still revolts me. She brought her equally beautiful, full-bosomed friend Thuvia into our bedchamber and bade me watch while they pleasured one another with unnatural acts, and then both turned their blue tongues on my manhood. To my eternal shame, I must admit that if I closed my eyes to their ministrations I did find them pleasurable.

Eager to avoid domestic life, I threw myself into my duties, leading the fleets and armies of Helium against its enemies. I had pledged myself to this “woman” and her empire, and I would not break my word. I wrote tales of my adventures, weaving in my love for the princess in a pathetic attempt to convince myself of their truth. My nephew Edgar further embroidered them for publication on Earth, making me into a noble hero who had won the perfect wife.

In public, I declared my love in terms so exaggerated that they sounded ridiculous to me, yet the royal family and the common people both appeared to believe my adoration of “the incomparable” princess to be real. They could not fathom that any man would not adore her. And in fairness, perhaps any man of her own people would indeed have adored her.

I am telepathic, as are the royals of Barsoom, and I carefully shielded my thoughts from my wife and her family. This only increased her distress, as apparently the sharing of thoughts is central to their warped ideas of making love. She began to show open disdain for me, hinting that marriage to one of so little learning was beneath her dignity.

She – a woman - was one of their leading scientists. I fully understand how strange that must seem, but I assure you that it is true. She devoted her time to the pursuit of knowledge instead of keeping home and family like a respectable woman should. She even carried weapons and had fought as a warrior, just like a man. Reluctantly she agreed to put aside her arms, but she would not give up her studies. Continually she met alone with other men she named scientists or court officials, and she laughed at what she deemed my quaint and barbaric ideas of propriety. A women should never be alone with a man not her husband, nor a man with a woman not his wife.

I must admit, I broke that last vow, with a lovely blonde woman named Phaidor. I could not enter her either, but she pleasured me all the same with her ample bosom. The guilt weighed heavily on my mind, until my princess murdered her even as Phaidor begged forgiveness and mercy. My princess thought me unaware of her crime, yet I could not accuse her without revealing my own shame.

The king, known on Barsoom as the jeddak, detected my unhappiness and sought to bind me more closely to his empire. With their insane science, my princess and her fellow savants found a means to create a hybrid child. First a son, and then a daughter. But these were not my children. These were unholy abominations produced in a laboratory. My princess seemed to have even less interest in them than I.

One night, after I once again declined her offer to pleasure me with that sickening blue tongue, we argued. She called me an unworthy consort for the Princess of Helium, and I declared her unnatural. Angered, I stormed out of our chambers to the hangars where flying craft were stored, and took one into the night. I cared not where I flew, as long as it was far away from my princess.

Eventually I slowed the flyer and landed, then set its automatic directional device to take it far away into what I believed to be uninhabited lands. Hopefully it would never be found.

I stood alone in the desert, and looked up at the nighttime sky. A blue planet beckoned to me. A planet filled with people like me, with women of my people. Women who knew their place and could be loved as a man loves a woman. I raised my arms toward the planet, and in a moment of weakness, wished to be there once again.

* * *

Did I actually wish to leave Barsoom? Even now, I’m unsure, but willingly or not, I felt the familiar tug and experienced the bright colors and disorientation that had accompanied my earlier journeys through the ether. And within either the blink of an eye or an eternity, I felt a rush of air and landed on a gritty, dusty surface after a short drop that knocked the wind out of my lungs.

I rolled onto my back and flexed my arms and legs; all appeared to be in good health. I slowly brought myself into a sitting position. All seemed well, and so I stood. Carefully I took short strides, but again I had no troubles. I very easily hefted a rock and threw it a great distance; I remained very strong, but in the moment I did not know why I thought I should have great strength.

Looking above me, I saw blue skies behind a great deal of cloud cover. Blue skies. Blue, normal skies. I had returned to my world. And I would die here, if I didn’t find food and water, and shelter from the morning sun already burning through those clouds.

At the time, I knew little of my past. I had appeared in this desert alone, without clothing, weapons or any accoutrements of any kind. My memories had been left on Barsoom with my harness, sword and pistol. I felt relief, as though a great burden had been lifted from my soul, but as yet I did not know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Dejah Thoris and John Carter  
> Dejah Thoris is the title character in Edgar Rice Burroughs’ A Princess of Mars, a pulp novel that’s spawned over a century’s worth of imitators. She is the original fantasy princess, at times a damsel to be rescued, at others a fierce warrior, and at still others an innovative scientist – Burroughs is not consistent in his depiction, and she eventually fades into the background of the novels.
> 
> She’s a Red Martian, third in line to the throne of Helium, the most powerful empire of Mars, a planet known to its peoples as Barsoom. Red Martians are telepathic, but again Burroughs is not consistent so I’ve chosen to resolve this by making those of select royal birth (like Dejah) more powerful than commoners. Her breeding has also resulted in greater size, strength, intelligence and beauty. And she has been taught many skills in her long life (Red Martians can live 1,800 years or more), including swordplay. Burroughs never reveals Dejah’s age but she is no hatchling. She’s tall (about six feet), copper-skinned with jet-black hair.
> 
> John Carter, Dejah’s eventual husband and the hero of the early Barsoom novels, is a Confederate cavalry officer mystically transported to Mars when he raises his hands to the planet. He finds himself much stronger than the locals, which he attributes to Earth’s greater gravity, but there are many hints that he has instead received a perfected body (this is made clear in a later volume, when a dying Earthman, this time with legs shattered in the trenches of the Great War, arrives on Mars healthy and whole). Dejah’s similar interplanetary journey has done the same for her, though the effects are not as profound – she is much smarter than Carter and can do more with less. Physical perfection, however, has not cured her deep-seated anxiety or lack of self-esteem.
> 
> Characters, Canon and Continuity  
> Carter's story picks up at the beginning of the first Ice and Fire book, and Dejah's at the end of the last book. The background incorporates a few elements from the TV show; where these conflicted I picked the one I liked better. Dejah Thoris and John Carter are not reliable narrators in all respects; though Dejah tries to tell the story accurately sometimes she misunderstands this new world around her (or refuses to acknowledge the possibility of magic). Carter is simply deluded with visions of his own greatness.
> 
> As for the Martin characters, Daenerys Targaryen, Jeyne Poole, Beth Cassel and Sansa Stark have been aged slightly and are all about 20 years old. Gendry Waters and Ned Dayne have likewise received a few more years. I’ve tried to avoid original characters, though many of the lead characters in this story receive few if any lines in the original works. And since George isn’t around, plot armor just doesn’t offer the same protection.


	2. Chapter One (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris experiences alarm, and relief.

Chapter Two (Dejah Thoris)

When John Carter disappeared, I felt a mixture of relief that he had gone and anxiety that he might return. We had argued shortly before his departure, yet another in a string of angry confrontations. He had become enraged, and for the first time I feared that he might strike me. With his enormous strength, I could easily be killed by such a blow.

That night, I slept alone in the manner of Barsoom. Except for a pistol carefully concealed beneath my sleeping pad.

I am Dejah Thoris. Princess of Helium, Regent of the Royal Helium Academy of Science, and wife of John Carter. My grandfather Tardos Mors rules Helium, the most powerful state of Barsoom, as its Jeddak. As Warlord of Barsoom, John Carter commanded the combined military forces of Helium and its allies.

At first I did not know that he had left the city; I was merely relieved that he had left my bed. Only in the morning when my old friend Kantos Kan informed me that John Carter had not reported for the daily inspection of the Palace Guard did I suspect that he had returned to his home world. I thanked Kantos Kan, broke the connection on the palace communications network and stepped outside to my private balcony overlooking the vast city of Helium.

I dared not share my inner thoughts with anyone. As far as my family knew, even my sister of the heart Thuvia of Ptarth, my marriage with John Carter was exemplary. Once I had loved John Carter, I had loved him deeply and wished nothing more than to be his wife.

And now? He remained the perfectly formed man I first seen and desired, a beautiful man of strong shoulders, narrow waist and firm muscles. He was a great warrior, skilled with pistol, rifle and sword, and he had fought to free me from captivity among the savage green Tharks. He proclaimed his love for me, yet kept his thoughts closed.

The peoples of Barsoom, known to John Carter as Mars, are telepathic. Royals such as my family are much stronger than the common people and communicate in a mixture of silent thought and spoken word. And while one must defend one’s mind from outsiders, to close off one’s thoughts to another is to emphasize distance. One does not do so with one’s beloved.

John Carter came from a different world, the third planet of our solar system known to us as Jasoom and to its people as Dirt. Intellectually, I knew this. Emotionally, the distance at first rankled, and only troubled me more as time passed. Eventually it hurt me. Without the sharing of thoughts, there can be no true sexual union. But while my own emotions could be held in check – for that is what a princess does – my nation needed him back.

Like a good princess, I waited patiently while my grandfather and my father, Mors Kajak, dispatched our city’s forces to search for John Carter. After several days Kantos Kan arrived at my chambers to report. The Protective Force had searched the streets and slums of Helium and its satellite cities for my husband or his corpse, though Kantos Kan tried to hide the latter objective from me. The Navy sent out its air scouts to patrol the deserts around Helium, and the Diplomatic Corps’ agents strained to find word of his arrival in other cities or abduction by a foreign power.

John Carter’s personal flyer was also missing, and had not been found. He had not gone to the Tharks. No sign of him had been found at all. As we spoke, the palace communications system chimed, summoning me to my grandfather’s conference chamber.

<<Granddaughter,>> the ruler of Helium greeted me. <<You know that our empire faces multiple rivals eager to take our place. Already rumors spread that John Carter is dead.>>

I do not believe that John Carter ever understood how vital he was to the delicate balance of power politics on Barsoom: through his marriage to me, he had ended the succession crisis in Helium. I would one day rule as Jeddara in my own right, with the greatest military mind my planet had ever seen at my side.

Against his own nature, the Warlord of Barsoom had become a force for peace. Helium needed John Carter. My grandfather depended on my husband’s military reputation to maintain the friendship of our allies and the fear of our enemies.

I did not share my misgivings with my father and grandfather or with my mother, Princess Heru. I am skilled at screening my thoughts, to the extent of allowing some to be read while keeping others hidden as though they do not even exist. I feared that John Carter had tired of me and had left on his own to return to his own planet and his own people. And find a woman of his own people.

Despite my reticence, Tardos Mors already suspected that my husband, his Warlord, had fled our planet. And he also believed, likely with some accuracy, that he knew why.

<<You had but one duty to your family,>> Tardos Mors said. <<To keep the Warlord tied to Helium, with your beauty and your skills of seduction. And you have failed.>>

<<It is not her fault,>> my mother, Princess Heru, interceded. <<John Carter is a barbarian. He was never worthy of my daughter. You approved the union for your own purposes.>>

<<My duty is to all of our people,>> Tardos Mors replied. <<And if war result from this disappearance, many of them will die. Dejah Thoris knows her duty.>>

And I did. A princess serves her people, at the sacrifice of her life and, when needed, of her happiness. I placed my hand over my heart, bowed my head and left the presence of the Jeddak a failure. Through my inability to keep my husband at my side, to swallow my pride and become the wife he desired, I might have sent millions to their deaths.

As had been my habit in times of stress, I turned to my sister of the heart, Thuvia of Ptarth.

<<Always you place duty first, Dejah Thoris,>> Thuvia scolded me. <<Even a princess is allowed happiness.>>

<<John Carter made me happy,>> I lied. <<I must return him to my side.>>

<<I am your sister,>> Thuvia said. <<Do not insult me by employing such a weak falsehood.>>

Rather than answer, I drew her into the position of ritual sex. I joined my mind with hers, and for a moment forgot about John Carter.

* * *

After two years, the long years of Barsoom, I grew tired of waiting for John Carter to return. I felt the constant reproach of my grandfather, and the fear of our people that war would return at any moment. As the absence of John Carter became clear, unrest turned into insurgency. I once again took up sword and pistol, as John Carter had forbidden, and like other members of the royal family I fought alongside our troops.

With Thuvia at my side, we questioned rebels, using our telepathic skills to determine plans and locations as well as the identities of their leaders. And when we found the leaders, as is the way of Helium I either executed them by my own hand or challenged them to single combat with sword or pistol and slew them in front of their followers. It was what John Carter would have called a “dirty war,” as we sought to suppress those opposed to my family’s rule before they could incite open revolution.

This could not continue. I knew of another way to find John Carter.

And so I stood on the balcony of our palace in Helium, high above my beloved city. I looked down on the glittering city lights, highlighted by passing airships. The moons Cluros and Thuria raced across the open desert toward the horizon. I came from a beautiful planet, filled with noble people. I loved my city and my family. And because of that love, I would abandon all of it to find John Carter.

I turned away from my city to stare up at the tiny blue planet floating overhead. I wished to go there. I wished to go there and find John Carter. John Carter had told me how he came from his planet known as Dirt to our own Barsoom. He had raised his hands to the red planet he saw in the night sky, and been drawn through space and possibly time to appear on its surface.

I now did the same, raising my hands to the night sky as I stared at the glittering blue jewel above, begging for the same interplanetary leap that had brought John Carter to me. I gave no thought to leaving my planet and city, or my family. Once before my husband had fled, and I had journeyed down the River Iss into what I then believed to be the land of the dead in search of him. Once one has taunted death itself, deep space holds few terrors. I would find John Carter no matter what perils must be overcome, and I would return him to Barsoom.

* * *

And here is a picture of Dejah Thoris, by Jay Anacleto: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris discovers a whole new world.


	3. Chapter Two (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris encounters the animal known as "horse."

Chapter Two (Dejah Thoris)

A wave of . . . something . . . passed through me. I had never felt its like. I could only see bands of intense color as I collapsed. Yet I felt no floor beneath me. I could stand it no longer. Everything became black and then my mind went black as well.

I awoke knowing that time had passed. Years, days, seconds: I could not say. I lay on my back, looking upward. The first thing I saw were the trees, trees unlike any I had ever seen or read of on Barsoom: tall, with heavy branches holding up thousands of small green leaves on each. The green overwhelmed my senses. Small flying animals flitted among the branches of these huge trees, while others apparently incapable of flight skittered swiftly up and down the trunks of the trees.

And it was cold. I seemed unaffected by the temperature, but more than likely I would soon need furs, food and fire. I did not mind being naked, but I very much minded being cold.

Matching the eeriness of the green plant life, through the trees I could see the sky, a bright, azure blue rather than the comforting pink of Barsoom. Puffy white shapes could also be made out above. The colors stunned me and I felt terribly dizzy. I remained on my back and carefully looked upward, trying to acclimate myself to this disturbing new world.

Was this Jasoom? John Carter had spoken of blue skies and great forests of green-leaved trees. The place where I had awoken seemed to hold no special properties: an opening among the trees, covered with brown leaves that I surmised had died and fallen from their branches. A number of plants of Barsoom similarly discard their leaves as part of the cycle of life. I rolled to my side and scratched some leaves aside to lay bare the dirt of Dirt. It was a dark brown, riddled with rotting plant life and tiny, crawling creatures. In this sense it was little different from Barsoom; while my planet is very red when seen from afar its soil is black or brown, at least in the fertile zones. I looked closely at the tiny creatures: they had six legs, like most animals of Barsoom. Perhaps I had not left my home planet? Many regions are little known to us.

But no, the light was unlike any I had ever experienced. Yellowish, and intense. Looking upward again, I found the sun near the eastern horizon. It was much larger than it appeared from Barsoom; Jasoom orbited closer to our common home star. These observations could not have occurred anywhere on my own planet. I had come to a different world. And I had done so alone.

Had I once again acted foolishly? Why had I not thought to bring my sister Thuvia with me, or even the noble Kantos Kan? Either would have gladly forsaken Barsoom to remain by my side and aid me in my quest. And I would not be so alone.

I did not know that I could return to Barsoom. I had no right to condemn my sister and my dear friend to eternal exile on an alien world. Whatever happened here on Dirt, I would have to accomplish by my own efforts.

With my resolve restored, I knew that I could not sprawl on the leaves forever. Carefully I stood. John Carter had proudly explained to me – to me, a leading physicist of Barsoom – the theory of gravity, in what over time I came to understand was a compulsion among the males of Jasoom to explain the world to females, whether the male actually had knowledge of the subject on which he held forth or not.

John Carter believed that his planet had much greater gravity than that of Barsoom, accounting for his superior strength and leaping ability. This was, of course, utterly silly to any mind of even the slightest scientific bent. His body, though beautifully muscled, was proportioned exactly as those of our own Red people of Barsoom. And his touch never destroyed that which he grasped. By his description, he had learned to walk normally very quickly, and I never observed any anomalies in his stride.

On the contrary, such strength must be some side effect of interplanetary teleportation. Therefore, did I also possess this ability? I must know this. I stretched my arms and legs; they seemed normal, but I did indeed seem to have a great deal of energy. I stepped off toward the closest tree, springing as hard as I could, and swiftly flew across the clearing. Prepared for this event, I landed with my feet spread and my knees flexed as I had seen John Carter do.

I could leap like John Carter, though not nearly as powerfully. This planet had much greater gravity than that of Barsoom. I could feel my weight. I walked back across the clearing carefully. The increase in strength and energy more than compensated. I would have to adjust my stride to avoid stumbling forward.

I had become stronger, but how strong? I placed my hands against the large tree trunk, almost larger than my arms could encircle, and shoved it. The tree groaned and shook. I lowered my shoulder and pushed harder until it toppled over with a resounding crash. Many of the small flying creatures fled upwards, giving voice to their anger at the destruction of their homes. I silently begged their forgiveness, but smiled in satisfaction. I had become very strong.

Looking down, I saw that my harness and ornamentation had not made the journey to Jasoom. I now wore nothing. I examined my own body closely, and found it in excellent condition. In fact, its condition was far too good. Though I am more usually a scientist rather than a warrior, I am of Barsoom and have seen more than my share of fighting with sword and dagger. I am skilled with a blade, but even the most skilled swordswoman will suffer wounds. I seemed to have no scars on my now-flawless copper-red skin: the light-colored old cuts along my ribs were gone, as well as the ugly puckered mark under my left breast that had almost ended my life long ago. A still-healing injury to my right foot, inflicted by a zitidar’s misplaced step, now gave no pain no matter how hard I pressed my weight on it. The small tattoo around the areola of my left breast had likewise disappeared.

If this were my body, it had been perfected in transit. More likely, I hypothesized, my actual body lay seemingly lifeless on a balcony in Helium. I hoped the palace staff would give it proper care and that my father Mors Kajak would realize that it must not be burned. I regretted not leaving instructions before reaching out to the blue planet. I am a scientist, and though I had impulsively seduced John Carter upon first meeting him, I am usually a rational thinker both by my nature and my training. I had been a fool.

Yet if my body remained in Helium, were my experiences here real at all? I shoved that thought aside. Later I might wish to present a paper on the metaphysics of interplanetary teleportation to the Royal Academy of Science in Helium. For now, I would treat my presence here as real.

Clearly, John Carter was not to be found by standing in the forest. I would need information. One direction looked as good as another, so I began to walk toward the rising sun. Eventually, I reasoned, I would come upon some sign of civilization. If any existed on this planet.

This forest had far thicker undergrowth than I expected, and I found that I needed my enhanced strength to force my way past the vines and small trees. My perfect new body acquired a number of small scratches, proving that it was not immune to damage or pain. As I ripped apart a particularly stubborn vine, I heard faint sounds of clashing steel. I moved toward them and began to pick up the thoughts of the combatants. There were but two, each broadcasting extremely conflicted emotions.

All people of Barsoom are telepathic to some extent; those of royal lineage, like me, are bred to be much stronger in this regard than are commoners. Allowing such strong and unfiltered thoughts to stream out is a sign not only of extreme rudeness, but of mental illness. Such people are immediately quarantined in isolated facilities and put under medical care.

I needed all of my mental discipline to even approach the two warriors. It is not vain of me to say that their emotional outbursts would have overwhelmed a weaker telepath. I could make little sense of their feelings, and even less of any coherent thoughts. Anger, lust, love, betrayal – all of the most powerful themes came through.

After pushing through plants and vines I reached a place where I could see the fighters through a gap in the undergrowth. They occupied a wide clearing in the forest, an opening with very little undergrowth, only a carpet of dead leaves. They were alone except for two large animals that they had apparently ridden to this place – both of the beasts wore what I recognized as saddles on their backs.

Both fighters wore very full armor, but no head coverings. One was clad in white, the other in bronze-colored armor that had seen a great deal of scuffing that revealed gray steel beneath.

Following polite practice, I attempted to contact each of them telepathically. Neither responded, nor did they even acknowledge my presence. I saw that I could climb from my observation post onto a large rock that jutted into the clearing and watch from there, and this I proceeded to do. I crossed my legs beneath me and watched the warriors battle, yet still they took not notice.

Both had pale white skin and yellow hair; they looked much like the Therns of Barsoom. They fought with long, straight swords. The warrior in white held his sword in his left hand, trailing the other behind him. He was a handsome man, and probably had been beautiful at one time. Age or perhaps stress lines around his eyes and mouth had taken much of that away. A broken shield lay on the ground nearby and I assumed that this had been his.

His opponent, who appeared to be female, fought with sword in one hand and a shield affixed to the other. I am taller than most women of Barsoom and according to John Carter of Jasoom as well, but this warrior was much larger than I. By contrast, she had never been beautiful, and bore a number of scars visible even at a distance.

Neither showed a great deal of maneuver, instead trading blows and attempting to sneak their blade inside the guard of the other. The greater strength of the female warrior – I had decided to label her thus – steadily began to tell, as it also became obvious that the male warrior had but one hand, with a metal facsimile in place of his right hand. A rather brutal strike from the shield to his face brought him to his knees and broke his nose, and the woman continued to rain down blows until his sword snapped into several pieces.

The female warrior stood over him, breathing hard, then cast her shield to the ground to raise her sword over her head with both hands and bring down the killing strike. Tears flowed down her face and she sobbed out a series of words. Her harsh and guttural words, nothing like our own musical tones, reminded me of John Carter’s language known as “English.” In my efforts to retain his love and loyalty I had learned his speech; as he refused to open his mind to others he could communicate complicated concepts only with great difficulty. His halting attempts embarrassed and angered him, and I soon learned not to suggest that he use his telepathic abilities like others of the royal class.

The woman’s powerful emotions made it hard to follow her thoughts, but it seemed that she loved this man yet felt bound by some sort of duty to slay him. I believe she told him that she loved him and wished that she did not have to kill him, or something similar. If she did not kill him, others would die for some reason that I did not understand.

The man said nothing, finally stating that he only cared for a woman named Cersei. He radiated a deep contempt for the woman warrior, fear for his own life, and revulsion at her declaration of love. He also loved another that he could not have; I had the impression that he found this similarity shameful and that this feeling fueled his contempt but I may have read too much into his emotions – I had a difficult time picking out coherent thoughts.

The woman shook her head, dropped the sword and stared at the forest floor, continuing to sob. I could read thoughts of deep, suicidal despair. This man was not the first she had loved in vain. She felt worthless and foolish. She hoped that he would kill her and thereby end her agony.

Did this little scene before me foreshadow my own fate? I had abandoned my city and my family, both of them inexpressibly dear to me, to pursue a man who did not want me and force him to love me. Perhaps I was equally worthless and foolish, but I was not yet ready to end my life. Neither should this woman.

I wanted to call out to her, to stop her from giving up her life so easily. I knew none of their story but could not believe any man worthy of such a sacrifice. But in the stress of the moment I could not recall the English words I would need, nor could I be sure that she would understand them, and she showed no reaction at all to my attempts to contact her by telepathy. I thought of simply running into the clearing to stop her but held back; I feared being cut down by an errant or surprised sword. My lack of valor shamed me.

The man rose gingerly to his feet and picked up her sword. She looked up at him, and he slowly placed its tip at the center of her chest. “Jaime,” she said, apparently the man’s name, and again declared her love. She spoke a few more words that I believe implored him to take her life and save his own. She both feared and embraced her impending death. He stared at her silently, his thoughts continuing to radiate contempt. I understood his words clearly, for the first time.

“I never loved you.”

He thrust the blade between her breasts with a shriek of metal against metal, leaning into the sword to put his weight behind it. It clove through her heavy armor and broke through her back plate. “But I love you,” she breathed again as she sank to her knees and then rolled to her side, the sword still impaling her.

The man stared down at her now still form for a time, and then finally noticed me where I still sat on the rock watching. He stared at me, and began to speak loudly and angrily, gesturing to the dying woman and the sword. The rush of emotion again made it difficult to follow his words, but he seemed to believe me to be either an illusion or some kind of vengeful spirit come to torment him. He believed that he might have been driven mad.

Pointing to me, he clumsily reached to each shoulder with his one good hand to undo what appeared to be clasps holding his chest-protecting armor plate in place. It fell to the ground with a clatter. He stalked across the clearing, still glaring at me, to where their beasts of burden had been tethered to a small plant. Taking up a white cloak that had lain across the saddle of one animal, he wiped away the blood now flowing freely from the wreckage of his nose, and then threw it onto the ground. I was welcome to the cloak, the armor and the sword, all of which apparently had a great deal of symbolic value to him. He climbed clumsily into the saddle and rode away, never looking back.

I decided to learn what I could from this strange little scene before moving on. I rolled the female warrior onto her back and easily extracted the blade from her chest. As her life drained from her I felt the last of her thoughts, a vision of herself – a much softer, idealized version – lying amid a pile of silks and furs and cradling a very small child to her breast, while an equally idealized version of the man who had just slain her stood over her and smiled gently. She wanted this to have been real so badly that I held her hand and wept for this stranger, but the vision grew dimmer. And then she thought no more.

The peoples of Barsoom rarely shed tears. Perhaps I was overcome by the waves of emotion I felt from both of these combatants; while my own people are capable of equally intense passion our telepathic abilities have also taught us to keep it within our own minds. Whatever the reason, I promised myself that should I come across the one-handed man again during my search for John Carter, I would kill him and his lover Cersei as well.

I thought about her vision. She imagined giving live birth or, more correctly, having just given birth that I assumed to be live – she did not picture the actual event. We of Barsoom hatch our young from eggs, and they emerge far more developed than the small one I saw in her thoughts. I had seen offspring of our people that looked similar to that she held in her dream, but only when an egg had been damaged or dissected – they are not viable outside the egg at that stage.

John Carter had told me a little of childbirth among his people, and this vision seemed to match his descriptions. I wanted to learn more: this concept had been a major point of contention in the science of Barsoom for centuries. The women of Barsoom, other than the six-limbed green race, have breasts including the glands necessary to secrete a nutritious fluid when properly stimulated.

Why is this? We do not suckle our young, as the woman seemed about to do in her fantasy. Do they serve only for sex play? Or did we once have more use for them. Not long before my sudden departure, I had approved for publication, in my role as Regent of the Royal Academy of Science, a paper that was sure to ignite planet-wide controversy. It detailed a theory that the four-limbed races – we Red Barsoomians, the yellow Okar people of the northern polar regions, the black-skinned people known as the First Born and the white-skinned Therns and related peoples – are artificially adapted to Barsoom and not actually native to our planet. Would I find evidence for this theory in my sojourn here? I admit that I felt the thrill of inquiry.

I stopped that line of thought. I know that I am obsessed with learning for its own sake, and that I at times lose track of time and my sense of the world around me in my ponderings. I was in a strange place and could well be in danger. I needed to concentrate and gain practical knowledge as quickly as possible.

I next examined her sword. I had never seen such metallurgy; none of Barsoom are capable of forging its like. I could easily balance the very light-weight blade on the tip of one finger. An odd pattern marked the blade, red ripples in its dark-gray metal. The pommel had been shaped to resemble a beast of some sort – perhaps a favored house pet? With my enhanced strength I easily drove the sword cleanly through the largest trees around the clearing, yet its edge remained as keen as ever.

On my home planet we regard swords as interchangeable tools; one might have a favored type, but outside of a few specific contexts the sword itself has little meaning. There are ceremonial uses of swords – one throws a sword at the feet of a leader to signify loyalty, and conversely a leader gives a sword to a follower to connote trust. Yet I felt myself oddly drawn to this sword. I stroked the blade and felt an almost sexual thrill from its warm metal. I hefted it and felt perfect balance in my hand; it could have been made specifically for me. It was not quite perfect: I found the decorations hideous, and I would have preferred a longer hilt to make it easier to wield with two hands. Even so, I wanted this sword. I would keep this sword.

Turning back to the fallen warrior, I studied her yellow hair; it indeed grew out of the skin covering her skull and was not a wig. She was, therefore, not a Thern after all. Stripping the warrior, I found her to be wearing heavy steel plate, of far less advanced metallurgy than her blade. Underneath she wore a quilted tunic of some sort, now soaked in her blood – red blood, as her killer had also shed, like that of Jasoom rather than blue like ours. The tunic probably had been meant to help cushion heavy blows against her armor. Beneath that she wore still more layers of clothing.

She had bled profusely from her wound and died rather quickly. John Carter had said that his heart lay in the center of his chest, and perhaps it was the same for these people. When she lay naked I saw that she was definitely not of Barsoom, with female organs very different from those of our women, differences perhaps necessary for live birth. She had breasts as we do, though much smaller than mine, and no obvious means of extruding her eggs. Otherwise she looked much like a woman of Barsoom, though at the very high end of the spectrum for size and musculature.

Her body and her face in particular bore many scars; she obviously had fought in a great number of battles. So why had she allowed the male warrior to kill her so easily? Solely out of unrequited love? It made no sense, but I am the alien here, and knew that something need not make sense to me for it to fit the logic of this place.

Was this Jasoom? The planet John Carter knew as Dirt? I decided to proceed as though it were. John Carter had said that his people buried their dead in the ground, and so I did the same with this fallen warrior after arranging her many layers of clothing on her as best I could. I found a useful folding digging tool attached to her mount and with my new-found speed and strength I soon had a pit dug.

I surely had left Barsoom: as a princess, I had never had cause to dig holes in the dirt. I found it fulfilling, once I figured out how to plunge the tool into the soil at the proper angle to scoop up dirt without overloading the broad blade. My first few attempts either scraped ineffectively across the surface or dug at too sharp of an angle to turn up any dirt. Soon I had mastered the rhythm and the hole deepened. I could tell that the loads of soil were much heavier than they would have been on Barsoom, even accounting for their much damper nature, but my enhanced strength more than compensated. I reveled in my possibly new body and its abilities.

And then I recalled why I was digging the hole, and sobered. Unsure what scavengers might be about, I made the hole as deep as my head. Recalling John Carter’s obsessive dislike of female nudity, I dressed the woman in her bloody garments as best I could and gently placed her corpse at the bottom of the pit. After filling the hole, I stacked the female’s armor plus that cast aside by her opponent on top of the mound, in case any of her people came looking for her. I kept the blade and the ornate matching scabbard from the female warrior’s back as well as several smaller blades I found strapped to her arm and both legs. None of these were of the same wondrous metal as the sword. I also took her flexible armored gloves, which fit my somewhat large hands very well.

After I buried her body, I turned to the remaining animal tethered in the clearing and calmly chewing leaves. Her mount greatly resembled the creature John Carter had called a “horse.” John Carter loved horses, and often said that they were the only aspect of life on Jasoom/Dirt that he truly missed. That was only half a lie; I do believe that he loved these magnificent animals. They simply were not all that he regretted leaving behind on the planet Dirt.

John Carter had painted and drawn horses many times, showing a very deft hand with a brush that almost equaled his skill with a sword. This creature looked exactly like those in my wayward husband’s art. The saddle and other tack were not exactly as he had drawn; what I found on this horse was more similar to those we place on our thoats of Barsoom with a higher cantle and much wider pommel.

The horse itself was much smaller than a thoat, and of a far calmer nature. Thoats are uniformly stupid and belligerent. As a princess, I had to ride them on ceremonial occasions, and had developed a deep dislike for the beasts. These horses were vastly different creatures.

Upon the horse I found a pair of oddly-shaped saddlebags, containing what appeared to be two round loaves of some sort of bread. Suddenly hungry, I ate them before realizing that these might not be compatible with my physiology. I found a rather thin sleeping fur, what was likely a cooking pot and tools for making fire. She also had some extras of the unusual underclothes she had worn packed with some long thick strips of cloth, several more small blades, a skin bag filled with water and a few other items. I found no firearms, nor any signs that the female warrior had had them. She had a small clay jar of a whitish powder that I later learned was for cleaning one’s teeth and a foul-tasting bar of what turned out to be soap.

John Carter had said that he only truly felt at ease when on horseback, communing with his horse by nearly telepathic means. Reaching out to the horse’s mind, I saw that it was intelligent as far as beasts go, and very receptive to my mind. Immediately it began to respond with simple impulses: it wanted food and rest, and wished its saddle removed so it could roll on the ground. I told it we had to travel first. It did not object.

Without the leather leggings that we wear when riding thoats on Barsoom, I would need some protection for my skin in order to ride the dead woman’s horse. I took a set of the woman’s large and thick undergarments and put them on, covering my ass and my reproductive area. I wrapped one of the long strips of cloth tightly around each of my thighs. I knew that I looked ridiculous to anyone of Barsoom, but I did not fancy the chafing that would come without this safeguard.

I swung into the saddle from the left side, as the horse advised me, and the beast made what its mind revealed was a satisfied sound, what John Carter had called a “nicker.” The horse had leather lines for directing its course, reins I recalled, but it seemed clear that it would go where I asked. I removed the leather contraption covering its head as well as the piece of metal jammed into its mouth. The horse nickered again.

I fixed the sword to the saddle in leather loops that appeared to be intended for that purpose and rode in the direction taken by the one-handed man, Jaime. I hoped to arrive at some sort of road or path soon. The horse sure-footedly picked her way between the trees, and soon enough we reached a rutted dirt track heading north and south through the forest. The horse had no opinion on the choice, and so I turned north. I communed with my mount, finding the horse’s thoughts highly compatible and comforting to me. The stress and confusion of my arrival in an utterly alien environment eased as we continued to plod along and I marveled at the richness of life among the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, Dejah Thoris defends herself.


	4. Chapter Two (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter arrives in Pentos.

Chapter Two (John Carter)

I stood alone in a desert, surrounded by small rolling hills covered in clumps of tough yellowish grass. I could not stay here, but I had no clue where to go. I decided to walk to the south, and marched along for some hours. More yellow-green grass had begun to appear, while the land grew more rugged. But still I saw no sign of civilization.

I detected the thoughts of approaching riders, a large number of men on horseback. The thought of riding a horse excited me, but soon I was surrounded by hundreds of angry riders. Some aimed bows at me, while others held curved swords that looked much like scythes. Oddly, none carried a lance.

The riders were dusky-skinned and black-haired for the most part, wearing loose trousers and leather vests, almost all of them in shades of brown. They carried no banners or other insignia, and few decorations upon their person.

Their thoughts showed them surprised to find a naked, pale-skinned man so far from any village or settlement. I identified their leader and mimed drinking water; as I had expected he did nothing to slake my thirst, only laughed.

The leader was a huge man, who wore trousers but remained bare-chested, showing off rippling muscles. I stand six feet four inches and weigh 240 pounds but this man was much larger than I. He had a black beard shaped into a point, dark tattoos on his face and upper chest, and extremely long hair knotted into a braid. Small silver bells tied into the braid tinkled whenever he moved his head, an odd accompaniment to such a fierce-looking warrior.

He spoke in a language that seemed familiar; at some point in my past, I had spoken one much like it, though I could not name it. The leader told me that if I wanted water, I would need to fight for it. Deciphering his meaning from his thoughts, I nodded my assent. Thankfully, the gesture meant the same among his people.

Two warriors dismounted; one began swinging his curved sword in patterns while the other held his horse. The swordsman would be my opponent. I pointed to the sword and held out my hand; the warriors all laughed. I was to fight unarmed, for the amusement of these men.

My opponent was young and unblooded; killing me would be part of a test of his manhood. He swung wildly. I dodged the sword and punched him in the face; he fell onto his back. I kicked the sword away from him and stood over him, looking to their leader.

“Kill him,” he said. “He’s worthless.”

From his thoughts, I knew that the leader would have us both shot down with arrows should I refuse. And so I took the young man’s sword and killed him. The odd shape of the blade prevented an honorable, quick thrust to his heart and I had to chop the point of the strange sword into his chest as though I were cutting firewood. Somehow his red blood seemed odd to me, as did the killing stroke to the center of his chest.

“Water,” I said, having taken the word from the leader’s mind. “Water and horse.”

“You’ve only begun,” the leader said. “Ruzgar had friends. Family. They’re your enemies now. At least now you have a weapon.”

No one tried to take the blade from my hands. One by one, I fought and killed eight more men. The curved sword was an awkward weapon, but my immense physical strength and great speed compensated for my lack of skill with this strange sword. Once I had killed the eighth man, that apparently exterminated all of Ruzgar’s relations, at least those willing to fight for his memory.

“We finished?” I asked the leader. “You give water and horse?”

“I keep my word,” he said, gesturing to some of his followers. “Water.”

One of the warriors detached a skin from his saddle and threw it at my feet.

“You can keep the blade,” the leader went on, “and anything you want from the men you killed including their horses, weapons and women. I’ll grant you three days to ride far away. If we find you after that, we’ll kill you.”

“If I leave the women?”

“Anything you leave, I divide among my blood riders.”

“The women will live?”

“If that’s my wish.”

“Is it your wish?”

“I’m in a good mood, having seen a good fight. Well, perhaps not a good fight, but an entertaining one. So yes, they live.”

“Tell me where I am.”

He rubbed his beard, pondering.

“That’s fair,” he finally said. He pointed to the south. “Head south. Soon you’ll reach softer lands, farms and pastures. Keep going. A wide road runs to Pentos to the west. Maybe three days to the road, six more to the city.”

“Your name?”

“Drogo. Khal Drogo.”

“If we meet again, I’ll kill you and take your place.”

“You have the right to try,” he laughed. “You killed Dothraki in single combat, so you’re a man of the Dothraki now, but I deny you a place in this khalasar as is my right. I already have one Andal and have no need of another. I should tell you that I am not Ruzgar and should you fight me you’ll find that I’m not so easy to kill. Ride away with your life, man with no name.”

“John Carter,” I said. “John Carter of Virginia.”

* * *

As Drogo had advised, I rode south. His thoughts showed him to be an honest man, if a bloodthirsty one, and he had spoken the truth about his determination to kill me as well. Something in the back of my mind urged me to win his friendship instead, as I had won the friendship of another very tall barbarian leader. But I could recall no more, and killing Drogo seemed the easier and safer path.

I had left the women behind, though several had been considered comely. Their copper-colored skin and black hair repelled me, for reasons I did not understand at the time. I wanted a woman, a woman with white skin like mine. A soft woman, one gentle of speech and touch and also firm of breast.

I dressed myself as a Dothraki, in loose-fitting trousers and tunic with a leather vest over it. They chafed against the sunburn I’d suffered on my long, naked walk, but less so than tighter-fitting clothing would have done. I had taken everything of Ruzgar’s, and of his friends and family, that seemed to have value: a full dozen horses, weapons, coins, food, clothing. While I did not need all of these possessions, I well knew that a man always had need of money. I could likely sell these items for at least a trifle. Drogo had given me a handful of coins for the women, promising to treat them well. I did not probe his thoughts to determine what he considered good treatment.

The curved sword, called an _arakh_ , did not suit me. The Dothraki seemed to hold no grudge against me and several men had helped sort out my new possessions, naming various items and advising me on their worth. One of the other Dothraki had traded me a straight blade that I knew was called a longsword for two of the better arakhs. He believed me a fool, but it felt far more natural on my hip than an arakh. Another traded me a good set of boots that fit, with laces almost to my knees, in exchange for three pairs that did not. I saw in their thoughts that few men had feet of my size, and that they considered the three-for-one trade to be fair.

To their credit, the Dothraki had not attempted to cheat me: I carried the full allotment of food, water and belongings of eight fighting men plus those of their women on my new train of horses. I could ride for some days and possibly much longer, but as yet I had no purpose.

While I rode through unfamiliar lands, I marveled at my own lack of astonishment. I had appeared suddenly in a strange place, with no clothing, weapons or any other belongings. And no memory of how I got there, nor of at least the last decade of my life. I knew my name, I knew that I came from Virginia, and I knew that I had fought for the noble cause of the Confederacy.

Yet my situation did not alarm me. Had something similar happened to me during those missing years of my life? Apparently so. I decided that I would not worry myself over such things. Some providence had handed me the opportunity for adventure, and I intended to take it.

Soon I reached softer lands exactly as Drogo had promised, and could eat fruit from the trees though I met no people. I recognized the fruit – peaches, and very fine ones at that – and the landscape seemed very familiar. I caught and killed a lamb on the third day and had fresh meat. For some reason, despite the lack of seasonings, the meat tasted wonderfully familiar and I felt very satisfied as though I had not truly enjoyed a meal for many years.

On my third day in this strange place I crested a ridge to see a stone-paved road running to the east and west. I saw no traffic on it, nor could I detect any thoughts. Having no other goal, I decided to visit this city Drogo had named Pentos.

Now I began to encounter people. Farmers in their fields, travelers on the road. After a few hours I came to a village with a pair of inns; I chose the cleaner of the two and tied my horse outside, while using my telepathy to instruct the other horses to remain nearby. I tied my new sword-belt around my waist and entered the inn’s common room.

“No fucking Dothraki allowed!” someone bellowed as I stepped into the smoky room. It had a large fireplace at one end, with a large blaze crackling despite the warmth of the day outside. It looked just like the hundreds of inns I had seen over a dozen lifetimes; a response that surprised me at the time.

“I’m not Dothraki,” I said, trying to identify the speaker. “I killed some and took their clothes.”

“You kill Dothraki, you’ll find friends here,” said a fat man stepping from behind a counter. His thoughts identified him as the innkeeper. “And you’ll find plenty of enemies out there.”

“I have some already,” I said. “To their credit, they fought fairly, one at a time.”

“Nothing’s to their credit,” the man said. “But you’ll have your first drink on me.”

I ate well and slept well, and in the morning headed out again with my string of horses. I had learned a little from the people in the inn; apparently these lands fell under the rule of the so-called Free City of Pentos, a merchant republic centered on one of this world’s largest cities. Opportunities abounded, they assured me, for a man with a strong sword arm.

As yet, I had no idea what I would do. I knew only a little about myself. I knew that I had been a soldier of fortune for much of my life. I knew that I sought adventure and excitement, the thrill of battle and the company of women. And I knew that while I was telepathic, none of the people I had encountered so far displayed this ability. I decided not to reveal this fact.

At the next tavern, I found the adventure and excitement I’d sought. As before, I left my horses outside and walked in to obtain dinner and a room.

“I’m sorry, friend,” the innkeeper said. “This man has already rented all of my rooms.”

“And who are you?” boomed the voice of the man indicated. He was enormously fat, with yellow hair obviously falsely colored and a forked beard, also colored yellow. He sat alone at a large table spread with food and drink. “Join me!”

“John Carter, of Virginia.”

“Never heard of either. Come, sit, and tell me of John Carter and of Virginia. My name is Illyrio Mopatis, a magister of Pentos.”

And so I ate the grilled lamb and drank the red wine of Illyrio Mopatis, and told him my very short story. He spoke a language that felt familiar, one that I had once spoken though I knew it was not my own tongue. I fell into it rather easily, assisted by telepathy.

Illyrio’s smell and mannerisms repelled me, yet his thoughts showed genuine curiosity and offered friendship. As I had no friends in this world, as far as I knew, I decided to accept his hospitality.

“You are good with a sword?” he asked at the conclusion of my tale.

“Very.”

“Ah,” Illyrio sighed. “So, once, was I. And muscled and beautiful, much like you.”

“What happened?”

“You were supposed to tell me that I still am.”

I simply looked at him. He smiled, showing crooked yellow teeth, and continued.

“Success happened,” he said. “I grew rich, and eventually I grew fat. Once women loved my body, now they simply love my money.”

“At least they still love you.”

“Well, there is that. You have nothing to do?”

“Not yet. I’ve always been a soldier. I suppose I’ll be one again.”

“You seek adventure?”

“I have the impression that it’s always sought me.”

“Come to Pentos with me. I have an adventure you might find worth your while.”

He planned to overthrow a neighboring kingdom and install a pretender on the throne. He didn’t quite know where I might fit in, but thought I might be useful to his plot. And he enjoyed my company. Despite his revolting physical presence, I must admit that I liked Illyrio Mopatis as well. He had once been a fine swordsman, and spoke knowledgeably of my favorite topic.

* * *

We arrived in Pentos a few days later. Illyrio had revealed more of his plot, which sounded unlikely to succeed, and told me more of this odd world in which I had appeared. I had glimpses of memory, mostly of battles but some of women I believed had been my wives, but nothing firm. And none of them seemed to match the tales of Illyrio Mopatis. Some in fact were so strange that I believed they had to be the remnants of fever dreams: flying machines, picture machines, a haughty copper-skinned princess. Perhaps this explained my lack of memory; I had been very ill and had been abandoned in the desert to die.

Illyrio detailed most of the servants who had accompanied him to return to his mansion. As he explained, Pentoshi law forbade slavery, so instead the upper classes held their workers under contracts that in practice yielded the same result. I found this a clever substitute for the divinely-ordained institution. Men are not equal, whatever rubbish some philosopher might spout. Some men are simply superior to others by nature. There will always be masters and slaves, and it’s in the slave’s best interest to have a wise master looking out for his interests.

Illyrio’s mansion was enormous, its grounds covering acres of gardens with pools, statuary, a butterfly enclosure and a grassy area where his servants played games for Illyrio’s amusement. His personal servants were uniformly young, female and comely; it embarrassed me that they went about bare-breasted but my friend assured me that this was the way of the Pentoshi elite.

I had expressed my need for female companionship, and Illyrio took me directly to a large, ornate building he described as a “pillow house.”

“Give my friend here whatever he wishes,” Illyrio told the woman apparently in charge of the establishment. “Illyrio Mopatis is paying.”

“And what is it that you want?” she asked me as Illyrio left.

“A woman,” I said. “Any woman. Small in stature if you can, but I don’t care as long as she’s white.”

“All of our girls are busy,” she said. “I’ll have nothing for you for at least an hour. Unless you want the dregs.”

“The dregs?” I asked. She spotted someone behind me and motioned with her hand.

“This one,” she said, indicating a small woman with unnaturally metallic-red hair and very pale skin. She wore an odd dress of sheer white material that left her left breast exposed; its purple-painted nipple pointed to the left. “Ten coppers and probably a poor deal. But she’s all I have, unless you want to wait.”

“She’ll do,” I said. “She’ll do just fine.”

“Illyrio’s paying. I have girls you couldn’t otherwise afford to look at, much less fuck, if you’ll but wait your turn.”

“I said she’ll do.”

I followed the red-haired woman down a small hallway and into a chamber with a bed, two chairs and a small table. I pushed the door closed behind me, shook off my Dothraki vest and pulled the billowing tunic over my head.

“Oh my,” she said. “Just tell me what you . . . what you want.”

“I need a woman,” I said, though it shamed me to admit my lust aloud. “It’s been years since I had a real woman.”

I untied my Dothraki trousers as she pushed her odd gown off her shoulder, baring her bosom. She stepped out of it to stand before me equally nude. She had skin as pale as milk, with several tattoos including a huge dragon encircling her left thigh. Her purple-tipped right breast pointed to the right, matching the left’s deformity. A small roll of fat marked her waist, but in that moment I did not care.

I stepped forward, took the small, strangely angled left breast in my right hand and placed my other behind her neck. She was much shorter than I, and I leaned over to kiss her. She pushed me back.

“Whores don’t, don’t kiss,” she said. “Not that way.”

She placed both hands on my manhood, now very hard and erect, and began to sink to her knees. I realized what she intended, and took her elbow to raise her back to her feet.

“Not yet,” I said, unsure then why the idea repelled me, having forgotten my “princess” and her bizarre blue tongue. “I need to be inside you.”

She sat on the bed, looking up at me.

“Whatever you . . . you want,” she said in a husky voice. “I’m yours.”

She reached for a small jar on the side table, putting some gel-like substance on her fingers. She placed some on my manhood, and then some inside her own woman's place.

“If you just want to . . . want to fuck me,” she said, “I, I, I need to be wet.”

She leaned back onto the bed, and I mounted the bed, and then mounted her. I slid into her as though I had not done so in decades. And I had not, but my body remembered what my mind did not. As I slid back and forth inside her, she moaned softly but did not move; her thoughts showed the moaning to be simple play-acting. I felt my excitement build, and at the last moment I pulled out of her to lay my manhood across her belly where my seed spilled in powerful spurts.

I felt an enormous surge of pleasure roll through my body, relief as though I had been in enormous pain for years. I shouted, and then laughed. My body seemed to float, as though heavy chains had been struck off of me.

Feeling myself harden again, I rolled over and once again entered her.

“Keep fucking me,” she whispered into my ear. “Don’t ever stop . . . ever stop fucking me.”

* * *

When I had finished, a male slave awaited me in the entry hall.

“I am to guide you to Illyrio’s mansion,” he said. “If you would follow me.”

I felt no deception in his thoughts, so I did as he bade.

“You enjoyed yourself?” Illyrio greeted me as I entered the main hall. “You seemed like a man with great need.”

“I still am,” I said. “But it’s bearable now. Thank you.”

“It was nothing, my friend. You and I will do great things together.”

“Such as what?”

“First, I suppose that you’ll need employment.”

“I have some cash I took from the Dothraki I killed,” I said. “And their horses, weapons and other belongings to sell.”

“Let me take care of that,” Illyrio said. “My agents will get far better prices than you could.”

He spoke the truth, so I nodded my acceptance.

“You’ve sparred with my guards,” he said. “And beaten them easily. Once I possessed some skill with a blade myself. You’re extraordinary, John Carter. I have some guests I’d like you to meet once they arrive, but until they do, would you consent to train the guards? I’ll pay, of course”

Again I nodded my acceptance. I had nothing better to do, and Illyrio’s plotting at the very least promised to amuse me.

* * *

I could not deny my desires, and returned to the pillow house the next day.

“You have coin this time?” asked the stout woman who ran the place. “Illyrio only paid for the once.”

“Not on me,” I admitted. “I can return with it.”

“We don’t give credit,” she said, preparing to send me away. Then she reconsidered. “Wait.”

She turned and pulled back the beaded curtain leading to the first floor’s bed chambers.

“Calye!” she bellowed. “Get your oversized ass out here.”

A few moments later the red-haired woman from the previous day poked her head out of the curtain.

“So?” she asked.

“Your lover here has no coin. You still interested?”

“Sure,” she said, and looked at me. “Come on . . . on back.”

“You know the rules,” the madam said to her.

“I, I know,” Calye said. “I’m good for . . . for it.”

I followed her down the hallway, back to the room where we had met before. She closed the door behind us. I took her into my arms, and bent down to kiss her. She turned her head away from me.

“I told you,” she said. “Whores don’t kiss. You want to, to kiss me, you have to, to buy me.”

“Buy you?”

“From my . . . my owner. And then I’ll be yours. You can fuck me . . . fuck me whenever you want. You can kiss me, you can, you can use me, you can kill me.”

“You’re a slave?”

“All whores are, are slaves. At least here in . . . in Pentos.”

“You mean you have a contract.”

“There’s no . . . no difference. The house owns me. You want to, to kiss me, you have to own me.”

No white woman should be a slave, even a debased creature like Calye.

“This is what you desire?”

“No, I, I, I want to be free. But if I, if I have to be a slave, I’d rather be yours.”

She was not beautiful, nor was she even likeable. But she knew her place and was eager to please me. Later I realized that she was everything my princess was not, and this made her desirable to me. I eagerly pulled the dress off her shoulder.

“Not so rough,” she said. “Not on, not on the fabric, anyway. You rip it, I, I, I pay for it. You can be as rough with . . . rough with me as you want.”

I pulled the dress down more carefully, then pushed her onto the bed as she spread her legs.

“Wait,” she said, dipping her fingers into the small pot of gel. “You’ll rip me in, in half if you go in dry.”

As soon as she was ready, I plunged into her. She dutifully lay still, as a woman should, while I satisfied my need. She remained silent until I once again finished on her soft, white belly. I suddenly recalled raising a glass to “the ice-cold Southern woman,” and I felt that somehow, despite the missing pieces of my memory, reality had righted itself again.

On the next morning, I went to see Illyrio.

“John Carter!” he greeted me, smiling warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“The woman,” I said. “The one I . . . the one who pleasured me after my arrival in Pentos.”

“I must apologize, my friend. You did not deserve that. It’s a fine pillow house, and I paid for their very best. They should not have passed off their cheapest whore. I know the owner well, we’re partners in this and other ventures, and I have other business with him. We’ll have words over this, do not fear.”

“I wish to buy her.”

“Buy her? From the house?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his chin with his hand, and gestured for me to join him as he walked into the gardens of his huge manse.

“My friend, are you sure? You wish her to be your woman?”

“I do.”

He sighed.

“From a Lysene pillow house, there are so many lovelies from which to choose. And you want that one?”

“I do.”

He sighed again.

“As I said, I have business with them anyway. Prince Viserys will arrive soon, and he wants a teacher for his sister. A skilled Lysene whore. You’ll come with me, and when we’ve chosen the teacher, I’ll ask them to include your choice with her. Or a better choice, should you recover your sanity by then.”

“You are gracious,” I said.

“Nonsense. It costs me nothing. I only worry that you think so little of yourself.”

“I will pay you back.”

“I was serious,” Illyrio said. “That whore you desire is of little to no value and they’ll give her to me for the asking. But please, my friend, look at the other choices first. I’ll gladly buy a better woman for you, a gift from me to you.”

“She’s what I deserve.”

“What did you do, that you so wish to punish yourself?”

“I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “Parts of my memory are missing. I only know that I did something deeply shameful. It feels like I somehow ran away from an obligation. What that was, I truly do not know.”

* * *

Each morning, I worked with Illyrio’s guard force. They considered themselves slaves, though to remain within Pentoshi law they each had a contract they could neither read nor understand. They were eunuchs, called “Unsullied,” and had been trained from an early age to fight with sword, spear and shield. They preferred the spear.

Though they were black men I found them to be excellent soldiers, obeying orders without question, and their swordsmanship was good but highly formalized. They dutifully performed all the evolutions they had been taught, and did so with great speed, but showed little imagination. Their thoughts registered little imagination as well; they lived to serve.

Illyrio had told me that young swordsmen of Pentos walked the streets in brightly-colored clothes, seeking a challenge. On some afternoons I strapped on my sword and walked about the city to test their metal. I found none of these “bravos” particularly challenging, and after I’d killed a dozen of them word spread and none would challenge me. I grew bored and considered whether I should leave my plush refuge.

While the Pentoshi considered theirs to be one of the world’s great cities, distant shapes of memory told me that I had seen and inhabited some much larger. The high, thick walls of Pentos and the abundant towers within them were all faced with red brick. Priests and priestesses of some fire god preached on seemingly every corner; I paid them little heed.

A prince ruled Pentos in name, but Illyrio and the other magisters formed a council that held real power. Pentos had no army and only a tiny fleet, living at the mercy of a city to the north called Braavos and the Dothraki horselords. Its people showed varied origins, some dusky-skinned but most of them white like me. They wore colorful robes, seemed to enjoy dying their hair and beards all manner of outrageous shades, and spoke a language Illyrio called Bastard Valyrian that I undertook to learn. He and I usually communicated in the Westerosi tongue in which he had first greeted me.

One morning after our training session, I found Illyrio watching us.

“I need to speak with you,” he began, “about security.”

“Just tell me what’s needed.”

“In a few days, some friends will bring a pair of very important visitors. Prince Viserys Targaryen, and his sister Daenerys. Do you know of them?”

“You mentioned the prince before,” I said. “That’s the extent of my knowledge.”

“Viserys is heir to the Iron Throne, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.”

“And by ‘rightful,’ you mean that he lost it and is in exile. And you intend to put him back there.”

“You’re a clever man,” Illyrio said, not knowing that I had read his thoughts. “You’ll bear watching as well. But yes, that’s my intent, and that of my friends. To do that, we have to keep him alive. And that will be your job.”

“He has bodyguards of his own?”

“None. My men are to be his defense, and I would ask that you organize them for this most important task. They like you and more importantly, they respect you. Will you do this for me?”

“Of course.”

“Will you need more men?”

“Your Unsullied are good fighters,” I allowed. “But they’re child-like, naïve. To protect against assassins, you need men with a suspicious nature. And you need to pay them well else they’ll take someone else’s coin as well as yours.”

“I can bring you such men,” Illyrio said. “How many?”

“Twenty to start,” I said. “Be ready to fetch more, in case these won’t suit you.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“In weighing their fighting skills, I trust your judgement,” I said. “I have certain skills in determining a man’s trustworthiness. Trust me in this.”

“So I shall.”

* * *

My doubts eased considerably upon meeting the first man Illyrio presented, a former pit fighter who called himself Strong Belwas. This was not his name, as his thoughts revealed, but I had long ago learned – though I could not recall where – to allow a man his own story as long as he did not seek to deceive.

“You’ve been a soldier?” I asked. “Served as a guard?”

“Yes.”

He did not wish to say more, but he knew his business. He was a huge man, with an enormous belly and rolls of fat that concealed thick muscle. Belwas was a eunuch, originally from a city called Meereen, but not Unsullied. Illyrio had bought his contract from a stable of pit fighters. When I tested his metal I found that he had great skill not only with a blade but most other weapons of Essos.

I liked Strong Belwas. With most people he spoke in broken sentences and single words, but once he recognized me as a fellow swordmaster he opened up considerably more. We soon took to regular sparring, and he taught me the subtleties of the arakh while I worked with him on two-sword techniques, something he had previously disdained.

Vaguely, I knew that I had been a pit fighter myself at some point and I did not hold Belwas’ past against him. Strong Belwas had dusky skin, unlike the white inhabitants of Pentos, and had been a slave in other cities. Like me, he was an outsider, and I was glad of his companionship.

Not all of Illyrio’s recruits showed such quality; I turned down about half of them but eventually had my twenty skilled, suspicious fighters. I trained them alongside Illyrio’s Unsullied, and worked out regular rotations to guard the mansion’s entrances, walls and interior. Illyrio provided gaudy uniforms and fine new weapons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter meets a princess.


	5. Chapter Three (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris glimpses Hell.

Chapter Three (Dejah Thoris)

I sensed the riders approach only moments before I could hear the hoofbeats of their mounts, and halted at a spot where the trees grew particularly thick and close to the road. The closeness of the trees and their abundant life felt very heavy on my mind, but in this position I would not be flanked should the encounter prove hostile. Soon I could separate the thoughts of three men, which revealed that they sought the woman warrior I had seen slain earlier in the day. They wished her dead, but feared her fighting skills.

Every person conducts an internal monologue within their thoughts, but intelligent people “speak” to themselves more than do those of lesser intellect. Stupid people – and these men apparently were quite stupid – have little to think about, and this makes them more difficult to track telepathically.

When they came within sight, one of them swiftly nocked an arrow to a bow but then slowly lowered it to point at the ground upon realizing I was not the female they sought and, in his eyes and thoughts, no threat. I had never seen such an ancient weapon outside of historical records and the wall paintings of abandoned cities. Did these people truly not know firearms?

Their apparent leader, a supremely ugly man wearing a yellow cloth over a suit of steel-plate armor, rode forward a few paces and addressed me. His words asked my name and business, but his thoughts dwelt on my breasts and images of forcible mating. He was a disgusting _calot_ – a foul creature of my planet – and I considered killing him on the spot.

I gave him my name, and told him I wished to see his leader. Not recalling a great deal of John Carter’s English, and needing to extract the words from his thoughts, I spoke slowly and haltingly, which irritated him. After the third attempt his thoughts indicated that he understood my words, though they remained poorly spoken. While the language was similar to English, it was not quite the same, and some of the English words I used had no meaning to him.

On Barsoom we communicate many basic parts of speech – pronouns and tenses, for example – by telepathy. Giving voice to the proper words, even in very rough form, took a great deal of concentration. I saw yet another paper for the Royal Academy, but once again I swiftly pushed that thought aside.

The warrior pressed again for my business, slowly moving his horse forward, and he continued to broadcast foul notions. Similar ideas also came from his archer friend and the third man, an older warrior with a bald head and hideous green beard. The intensity of their undisciplined thoughts threatened to overwhelm me, but I was learning more words from them and I used John Carter’s name for my planet.

“I am from Mars. Take me to your leader.”

“What makes you think I’m not the leader here?” the one in yellow demanded, adding what I understood to be a string of epithets reserved for unintelligent females.

I knew from John Carter that his people could not read minds, and I suspected the same of the people of this planet, were it not indeed Jasoom. The man in white armor had not been able to even determine if I were real, while his opponent had ignored the powerful thought impulses I had sent in my vain attempt to dissuade her from suicide at his hands.

Had any of them known anything of telepathy, even of its existence, they would not have broadcast their thoughts and emotions so heedlessly. I decided not to reveal my abilities, though I thought it likely that all three of these men would prove too stupid to comprehend telepathy. Distasteful as I found their minds, reading them made it steadily easier to form sentences in their rough language.

“A leader employs polite address with a stranger.”

“We’ll ain’t you the fancy-speaking noble bitch?” I had succeeded in enraging him. That had not been my intent but I found it difficult to care. The images of forcible mating grew in intensity as he turned to address his fellows.

“Let’s just rape this diaper-wearing Dornish bitch, open her throat and be off.”

I quickly drew my new sword and placed it at his neck before he could turn back toward me.

“You may wish to reconsider.”

The archer started to raise his bow. I looked at him.

“You will drop that weapon now, or I will kill you all.”

He hesitated. The green-bearded one shouted and rode forward.

“That’s the big ugly bitch’s fancy sword. And her horse, too.”

He had recognized the woman warrior’s blade. He thought to kill me and forcibly mate with my corpse. He reached for his sword. The man in yellow urinated in fear but did not move other than to back his horse. The archer raised his bow as I asked my own horse to keep the yellow man between us and the archer. As my sword drank the yellow man’s life an arrow struck him in the ribs. I spun the blade rightward to slash across the belly of the approaching green-bearded man. The wondrous edge cleft through his armor of steel rings as though it were cloth.

I leapt from my horse and bounced from the ground to the archer as another arrow flew through the space I had just occupied. I reached him before he could raise his bow again with its freshly-nocked arrow. He was very fast, but not fast enough. I slashed the weapon in half and put my sword’s point to his throat. Behind me, the bodies of two men slid off their horses and onto the ground.

I grabbed a handful of the archer’s loose clothing and yanked him down from his own mount. He sprawled before me, his eyes very wide. He appeared much younger than the other two, and had scars on his face that appeared to be from a skin condition or perhaps a disease.

“You will take me to your leader now. Or you will die as well.”

His thoughts still lingered on my breasts.

“Those tits” – I took the word from his mind – “will be your last sight if you do not do exactly as I say.”

“Yes. Please don’t kill me. Who are you? What are you?”

“You will be silent.” He obeyed. A coil of rope had been affixed to his saddle, and I used it to tie him securely and then had another thought. I pulled at his leggings.

“Remove these.”

“What?”

“Remove the clothing from your legs.”

“You . . . you want me?”

He hoped that I wished to mate with him. I considered running him through as he lay on the ground, but refrained so that he would not foul the leggings with his waste as he died. Instead I pulled again at his leggings.

“I want your clothing. You will give this to me or you will die and I will take them anyway.”

“Yes, my lady.”

He pulled on a knot holding a cord around his waist; his leggings loosened when the knot came free. I pulled them off his legs. I sensed embarrassment over the exposure of his sex organ, and in my anger I taunted him.

“You hoped to put that tiny cock into me?” I again took the word from his mind. It was shaped like that of John Carter, but was indeed considerably smaller. And, as I would realize when I knew more of their language, denoted by an exceedingly stupid word.

“I . . . I’m sorry.”

Having removed his leggings, I pulled him upright by the front of his tunic and easily tossed him back atop his horse; he was very thin. I telepathically asked his horse to remain in place until I was ready to leave; the beast seemed willing and I could detect a deep hatred of its rider. The archer whimpered, but did not speak. I took off the dead woman’s underclothing, pulled on the leggings and tied the drawstring; they were tight around my loins and scratchy on my skin, and terribly unattractive. Still, they would protect my legs better than my previous solution. If that afflicted the archer with unwelcome chafing, then perhaps he should not have tried to shoot me with his arrows.

I walked back to where his comrades lay dying, their final thoughts as unpleasant as those they had had in life. The yellow man thought of roughly mating with a pale-skinned, red-haired woman; the green man rapidly imagined a series of foul deeds – murder, forcible mating, setting what appeared to be small homes afire, robbing poor people – that he had committed in his life. I thought to question them, but felt myself becoming physically ill from my contact with their diseased minds.

Instead, I examined the yellow man’s armor and found the clasps that held it in place. It was even more roughly made than that of the female warrior. Underneath he was filthy; in places his underclothing seemed to be actually rotting. As he died he voided his waste, adding even more smells to his already foul odor. I noted that these people released far more, and far damper, waste than the peoples of Barsoom. Yet another paper for the Royal Academy.

Determined to learn more, I sliced open his chest with a single sword-cut down to his waist. I spread his abdominal cavity open with my hands, then wiped them on his yellow cloak. He had ribs much like John Carter or I, but his heart and lungs were smaller than those of a Red Barsoomian and his heart was centered rather than offset. This explained why Jaime’s sword-thrust had been fatal to the female warrior; I still did not know her name. He had but one stomach. His reproductive organ was not as tiny as the archer’s but still far smaller than that of John Carter. I surmised that if not one of John Carter’s people he was closely related, but he was definitely not of Barsoom.

The green-bearded man was not yet dead, and had switched from memories of his own deeds to renewed wishes of inflicting harm upon me. His sword had fallen back into its scabbard and he struggled to draw the blade but had little strength left. I walked over to where he lay and despite his coat of metal rings I easily slid my sword through his heart, now that I knew its location. His vile thoughts receded. I decided to leave the bodies for whatever scavengers might be desperate enough to feast on their foul remains.

I asked their horses to stay in place while I looked through their saddlebags. They had more round loaves of bread and skin bags of water; the green-bearded one had a bag of some reddish, mildly alcoholic drink as well. I ate the loaves and some dried meat I found, and drank the alcohol. The yellow man had some incredibly filthy undergarments that I used to clean my new sword before tossing them atop his corpse.

The green-bearded one had several scrolls made from what appeared to be some sort of animal skin, with characters written on them. These made no sense to me, nor did they resemble the letters of Jasoom that John Carter had shown me. I tossed these aside as well. He did have a flat, gray stone wrapped in a soft cloth along with a small flask of oil. I recognized these as a sharpening set for his sword, and kept them though my new blade seemed not to need sharpening. He also had a dozen round red fruits; I gave one to each of the horses and ate the rest myself while I sifted through their belongings.

Each man also had a small drawstring bag tucked inside their clothing with coins inside; I poured the contents into one bag and kept that. They were round rather than the ovals we use on Barsoom, but their function was clear. The yellow man had a helmet forged in the shape of a snarling animal. If this was the fiercest beast Jasoom had to offer, I was not impressed. I threw the helmet against a tree to test its metal and it readily crumpled. I left it where it lay, but I took the swords of both dead men.

The archer, still terrified, watched me approach.

“Will you kill me now?”

“Perhaps. I will ask you questions. You will answer.”

“Yes,” he said, then added, “my lady.”

“Is this Virgina?”

“What is Virginia?”

“Is this land Virginia?”

“Never heard of no Virginia. These are the River Lands.”

Either this man was quite stupid, which seemed possible, or these were a people of little imagination.

“So there is a river near here?”

“Yes, my lady.”

So much water on this planet that it flowed across the surface.

“Who rules these lands?”

“No one really knows. The land is at war and everything’s confused.”

I am of course rendering his words as I understood them with a great deal of telepathic help. The archer had no education and spoke what I believe was a very rough peasant dialect.

“So there is war in the land?”

“The great war has ended but fighting continues. Many men have separated from their armies and now wander the land killing and looting and raping.”

“Including yourselves.”

“No. We defend the weak. We are a brotherhood.”

“Truly? Your friend spoke of raping,” their word for forcible mating, “and murdering me, and insulted my clothing.”

“We seek vengeance against,” he named two names, apparently powerful families in this land. “My companions were hard men.”

“And now they are dead men.”

“And now they are dead men,” he agreed. “Will I join them?”

“It is of no matter to me whether you live or die. If you are useful to me, I will allow you to live.”

As he spoke, he seemed to recover from his shock and became steadily angrier. He imagined shooting me with arrows while I cried out in pain, he imagined raping me while I both shed tears and begged for more, and he thought of stabbing me during the act with the knife I had neglected to take from him. A foolish and almost deadly oversight.

I now searched him, finding a small bag of copper coins which I added to those I’d taken from his friends. I also took the knife from inside his clothing and studied it. I found it badly made, with a wooden handle nearly falling apart. It struck me that every item I had examined since my arrival on this planet appeared to have been made by hand. I snapped the knife’s blade and cast the pieces deep among the trees. I also took the bundle of arrows from his ornate quiver and snapped them in half.

“Show me your hand.”

“Why?”

“Show me your right hand.”

He held it out tentatively; it remained tightly bound at the wrist to his left. I saw hard calluses on his first and second fingers. I tapped them.

“You pull the bowstring with these?”

He did not answer, but his mind agreed. I braced his hand against the pommel of his saddle, drew the long knife I had taken from the woman’s corpse, reversed it and smashed the knife’s pommel against each finger. He screamed as his bones snapped. He would be unable to draw a bow until they healed.

“Should you attempt to harm me, you will never shoot another arrow.”

“You crazy bitch! You crushed my fingers!”

“I have not yet damaged you permanently. Answer my questions or I will take off your fingers and perhaps your tiny cock as well.”

I had slipped and given a hint that I could read his mind, but he did not notice. His thoughts now altered between pain, fear and hatred. I could accept that.

“Do you know a man named Jaime?”

“Who?”

“His name was Jaime. He had a metal hand. He wore white armor. He slew the woman who owned this horse and sword before me.”

“The Kingslayer. So the big ugly bitch found him after all and he killed her. Good. That was our mission.”

This “king” who had been slain was apparently their equivalent of a jeddak.

“He killed your ruler?”

“Yes, long ago. Now he’s known as a man without honor.”

“I can understand that. The woman was disarmed. Why did he kill her anyway?”

“I don’t know. She was in our camp, badly injured, and cried out his name in her sleep while she healed. We believed that she loved him. Our leader ordered her to kill him, or she would kill the woman warrior’s friends.”

Again, I can only transcribe his words as I understood them – I am certain they were actually of a much baser sort. And mine as I wished to speak them; I am equally certain that my command of the language was and remains imperfect.

“Your leader is a woman?”

“She used to be.”

“What does that mean?”

“She was married to the ruler of the northern lands. The new king had him killed. Then the king’s family had her son and many others murdered during a wedding feast. They killed her as well.”

Apparently this was a well-known crime, offending even this criminal.

“She was dead, but now she lives?”

“Something like that. She seeks vengeance. We help her find it.”

Ras Thavas, one of Barsoom’s greatest scientists though somewhat mentally disturbed, had devised means to revive the dead, provided their bodies had been preserved. Perhaps this technique was known here as well? These people did not seem very scientifically advanced but Barsoom has inhabitants as ignorant and stupid as my captive.

“I wish to meet your leader. You will take me there.”

He suggested that I visit a place inhabited by demons instead.

“You are wearing no pants, and I have a very sharp sword.”

“You’re no better than we.”

“Perhaps. But I have not raped you.”

His twisted mind provided him with far worse threats than I could have imagined, much less voiced. He feared me, and at the same time felt shame for fearing a woman. I thought myself a person of high morals, but perhaps he was right. This place was already changing me.

“Again, tell me of the war in the land.”

“There are rumors of war. To the north and to the south. It is not clear who is left to fight. Many of the great houses have been broken.”

“We will find out.”

He thought of grabbing the leather lines that guided the horses and riding away. I cut them from his mount’s head, since the horse would go where I asked. I removed the saddles and other tack from the horses of the two dead men, and telepathically told the animals to go where they wished. They chose to follow me. I leapt onto my own horse, and started up the road with the three other horses following.

I had come to this planet in search of John Carter, but I knew myself reluctant to actually find him. During the two years since his disappearance I had not missed his rages, his belittlement of me and of my culture, or his refusal to open his thoughts like a civilized person. He had not engaged me in proper sex yet forbidden me to make love to anyone other than Thuvia, and then only when he watched while pleasuring himself.

What did I intend to do when I did find him? Subdue him, restrain him and raise my hands to the red planet in the night sky? Convince him to willingly return with logic and argument? Seduce him and return him to my bed?

I did not know, but I could also have used his knowledge. He had told me much of Jasoom/Dirt, and I wished that I had paid closer attention and asked more questions rather than silently dismissing it. I had found his tales tedious and self-aggrandizing. To find him, were he even on this planet, I would need to learn much more. This was a planet riven by war, and John Carter would make his mark here no less than he had on Barsoom. I merely had to follow the tales of miraculous deeds of battle: where there is war, there will be John Carter. But would he still be the John Carter I had known?

* * *

We rode along the road for a time, until the archer’s thoughts indicated that we approached a lookout post. I could detect no one where he thought a guard should be watching, but I turned my horse onto the narrow path that my prisoner’s mind recalled as the route to his brotherhood’s encampment.

He became more and more agitated as we rode deeper into the forest, hoping that his friends would ambush me, but still I detected no one watching for us. Finally, I began to pick up a cluster of people ahead of us, highly excited about some event taking place. They paid little attention to me or my prisoner.

Dismounting, I entered a forest clearing filled with about 200 people of all ages, both men and women. The rush of undisciplined thoughts poured into my mind, threatening to overwhelm my defenses. They thought of food, they resented others for their slightly-less-filthy clothing, they hoped to see someone killed, they wished they were mating.

A wide flat stone served as a speaker’s platform, where a hooded figure stood with an armed man beside her. The figure held one hand to its throat and made hissing noises, which the man translated for the crowd. I took the sword and scabbard from the saddle and held it, still sheathed, in my hands.

I could not easily follow the individual words; the crowd’s ocean of thought made it difficult to pick out separate strands. The hooded figure, who the man on the platform now called the stone-hearted woman, pointed to four people standing below a pair of heavy tree branches, two below each branch. Ropes had been looped over the branches, with nooses tied around the necks of those below, who stood on what appeared to be pieces of wood.

The stone-heart’s translator said that these four had helped an enemy family known as the Lannisters. The two males had been comrades of a woman named Brienne; I realized that this must be the name of the large woman warrior I had seen willingly killed. She had proven herself a friend of Jaime Lannister and run away with him, leaving her friends to die in her place. And so now they would meet their deserved deaths.

The two females apparently ran an inn and had given food and drink to the Lannisters. The woman named Brienne had fought to save them from lawless marauders, making them associates of Brienne in the eyes of the stone-heart. Later, the taller of the two females had tended the wounds of Brienne here in this camp. For this crime, the stone-hearted woman demanded their deaths. The smaller female cried while the larger cursed the stone-hearted one, saying that she and her sister had done nothing wrong.

I could not let this happen. I had no wish to become involved in the affairs of this place, but these young women and their friends were about to be killed. Murdered. I stepped into the clearing and shouted.

“Stop. The woman Brienne did not join the Lannister. He killed her before my eyes.”

The crowd’s thoughts said that my appearance shocked them: a copper-skinned woman wearing only a dirty set of leggings over her loins. My exposed breasts offended some and excited others. The stone-hearted woman pulled back her hood to stare at me. It was an awful sight. The archer had not lied: this woman had obviously been dead. Her flesh was decayed, and she had long scars running down her face. The cause of her death was obvious; her throat had been cut.

She pointed at me and screamed. No one needed her translator; a score of people or more rushed to attack me with their bare hands. Far from every person followed her order, but it was plenty.

They crashed into me like a herd of crazed wild thoats, knocking me to my knees. I bent my head forward instinctively to protect my face and eyes. Fists began hitting me on the arms, back and head. At least five hands roughly grasped my breasts. But like John Carter, while I lived, I would fight.

Several fingers stuffed themselves into my mouth. I bit them off easily and spat them out. Someone screamed. I placed my new sword on the ground between my knees to fight with both hands. With my left hand I pulled men off of me, with my right I delivered the short, sharp punches with folded fingers that we learn in the hand-to-hand combat style of Helium. I looked for the soft areas – throats and groins – but struck whatever target presented itself in my desperate need to escape.

Steadily I reduced the number of enemies and the weight on my back eased. Fewer punches and kicks struck me; as yet, no one had drawn a weapon. I shrugged off the last man sprawled across my shoulders, rose to my feet and kicked him soundly in the face. He stopped moving. Around me fourteen men and one woman sprawled on the ground in various poses. Some moaned; most did not move at all. While I had not thought to kill anyone, neither had I held back my enhanced speed and strength. They had wished to kill me, and several had wished to rape me. I did not grieve for their deaths or their injuries.

Other men now circled me warily. Some drew swords while others picked up rocks and pieces of wood. The creature who led them continued to hiss angrily; the hatred streaming from her mind was almost physically overpowering. She hated me, but more than that, she hated those who had taken her life, and she hated those unworthy souls who still drew breath. Her followers were but tools to carry out her program of murder and hate. When she had taken her vengeance on those who had wronged her, she would kill these followers as well and make them into creatures like her.

I drew my sword and faced my enemies, turning as they moved to encircle me. When they continued to hesitate, their undead leader hissed even more loudly.

“Kill her!” the man standing with her shouted. “The stone-heart commands you. Kill the red bitch!”

This time, ready for my abilities and with weapons in hand, they might succeed. I decided to strike first, bending my legs at the knees and leaping across the clearing to land right before the stone-hearted woman. With my left hand I back-handed her translator, who lost his sword and fell to the ground. Then I plunged my own sword into her heart; it went easily into her rotting flesh up to the hilt.

As I drew it out of her chest, flames burst out all along the blade. She caught fire as well, first her gray, dry flesh and then her hooded clothing. She emitted a high-pitched, piercing squeal, sinking first to her knees and then collapsing downward upon herself. In the flicker of an eye, only a circle of smoking ash remained.

A stocky, bald man in faded red robes pushed his way through the crowd.

“Behold the Red God’s Chosen!” he shouted. “She is Azor Ahai returned! She is the Princess Who Was Promised!”

He began to preach a prophecy that these people seemed to have heard before. He was obviously some kind of priest. Some now looked at me in awe, others in hatred. I did not detect anyone ready to attack me, at least not right away.

Some of these people – the ones who did not wish me dead – wished me to lead them. But even more of them hated me for killing the stone-heart, while others feared me for the same reason. I did not want to lead these people or be their red savior; I wished to be on my way with my sword and my horses, in search of John Carter. These lost and frightened souls had little hope and believed that nothing but death and pain awaited them. They needed a real leader in place of the murderous monster who had risen from the dead.

As for the Red Priest’s ramblings, I knew not what to make of these.

About half of the assembled people went to one knee and looked up expectantly at me; the others milled about uncertainly behind them while muttering angrily. I had a much more difficult time picking out thoughts in such a crowd than I had when dealing with only two or three people at once and the strong emotions of the moment made their thoughts even more tangled.

I did perceive that the kneeling motion was their equivalent of throwing their swords at my feet – those who knelt offered to serve me and asked for my protection. I was under no illusions as to their sudden love for me; they knelt because the Red Priest told them to do so.

It appeared that I had killed the translator; that had not been my intent. Too many people were dying. Suddenly, I remembered the four figures dangling from nearby trees.

“Cut those people down!” I shouted in my best command voice. Several of the kneelers got up and ran to do so.

“Are they alive?” I asked.

Two young men left the bodies and approached me where I stood alone a scant distance from the smoldering ashes of their leader. One youth was quite thin with long hair and a regal bearing, the other large with blue eyes, shaggy black hair and broad shoulders – he could have been John Carter’s forgotten son. Maybe, I mused, he was – I knew that interplanetary teleportation created strange time effects. Both seemed discomfited by the sight of my breasts, but neither evidenced the desires for rape and violence that I had already encountered far too often during my brief time on their planet. I felt somewhat better about the people of this place.

“No, my lady,” said the thin young man, his thoughts grieving. I struggled for the proper words to express sorrow.

“I share your feelings,” I finally said. “Had I been faster, they might have lived.”

“Had we also been faster,” said his larger friend, “they might have lived. We knew what Lady Stone Heart was but we did nothing to stop her. Walking away is never enough in the face of evil.”

Now many began to argue angrily with him, expressing their love for the stone-heart and their hopes to obtain vengeance for her. Others complained of the stone-heart’s murder of the four hanged people. Three of those killed were apparently very young and blameless of any crime; no one seemed to miss the fourth, a rather plain-looking brown-haired man in warrior’s garb.

“Hold!” I cried, holding aloft my still-flaming sword. “Do you wish to fight me again? Then be silent.”

A couple of men fingered their weapons, but none raised them. I wished my sword would stop burning, and so it did. It appeared clean so I sheathed it; I would ponder this phenomenon later.

I walked over to the bodies, the Red Priest by my side. In Helium and other great cities of Barsoom, the Protective Force includes specialists who can gather the final thoughts of the recently dead, which linger for a little less than what this planet deems an “hour” and can sometimes help determine who killed them. Because of this, assassins usually destroy the victim’s brain with an explosive bullet or a blunt object.

I had no training in this procedure; the final thoughts of the dying are clouded with pain and with a vast assortment of memories, some real and some false. The hanged warrior actually thought of the slain Brienne, apparently wishing that he had married her or at least shared his feelings for her. He had died without telling her directly, fearing that they were not returned. The youth, apparently a battlefield servant to Brienne, also thought of her; his last fading musings alternated between despair that he had not served her properly and anger that she had not saved him from this fate.

The two young females showed other signs of violence. Their rough clothing had been torn, and both had blood on their bare legs. The smaller one’s last thoughts had centered on small furry animals that she loved, and a great deal of pain. But the larger one had remembered very clearly that she had been raped in multiple orifices. It had been agonizing, and my knees buckled with the force of her outrage. She pictured the faces of those who had forced themselves on her despite her screams, as well as the stone-heart looking on without a word, implying approval.

There is no equivalent of rape on Barsoom. John Carter had often feared that sexual crimes would be committed against me while I was held captive. I had always known that the implied insult to my husband bothered him at least as much as the hurt inflicted on me, but until this moment I had never understood why the very possibility traumatized him.

Crimes of passion occur on Barsoom, and include murder, but our physiology does not allow for an assault with a sex organ, not in the ways these very young women had been raped – male sex organs repeatedly and forcibly thrust not only into their own sex receptacle but into the orifice used for excretion, amid immense pain and humiliation. They had begged and they had screamed. No one came. That was the worst part. No one came.

I had never encountered anything like this. For some moments, I feared for my sanity. Our religion, in which I no longer believe, does have a concept of Hell, a place of eternal suffering. In my years of pious belief I had never imagined such a thing could exist even in Hell.

“They were raped,” I finally said, my voice unsteady.

“I didn’t know,” the Red Priest said softly.

“You should have.”

I turned back to the crowd.

“Who raped these small women?”

They moved uneasily, but one man made as if to run. A tall, red-haired woman stepped in front of him.

“It was you,” she said. “I know it.”

His thoughts confirmed it.

“Bring him here.”

Several men dragged him forward and threw him at my feet.

“Who helped you?”

He said nothing, but thought of two other men. I looked over the crowd, and saw each one.

“Bring that one, and that one.”

Other men dragged them forward. Several women kicked them as they passed. I picked up the proper word. Girls. They were only girls.

“You raped these girls?”

“No, not me,” one of them gasped. He was very dirty and missing many teeth. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“You took your turn just like we did.”

I did not think long.

“Hang them so that they know they are dying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris questions her judgement.


	6. Chapter Four (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris learns more of her strange new world.

Chapter Four (Dejah Thoris)

Two of the men remained silent, while the third cried and repeated “no, no, no” as all three were slowly raised into the air from ropes looped over tree branches, the same ropes that had ended the lives of their victims. Their legs began to kick wildly.

“Kill her!” the archer screamed again. Someone had helped him down off the horse and untied him, but he remained bare below the waist. He stood on the speaker’s stone. “The bitch mutilated me! She murdered Lem and Greenbeard! She sliced open their bodies and did . . . things to them! And she stole my pants! She’s a red-eyed demon!”

I began to think that leaving the criminals’ bodies in the middle of the road, with one of them thoroughly dissected, might not have been the best decision. I hoped that the scavengers would help conceal the signs of my anatomical investigations. Meanwhile, the broad-shouldered youth took a few steps to where the archer stood and punched him in the face. I was more pleased than I should have been, but I had already come to greatly dislike this word “bitch.”

“We should hang you too,” the young man told the archer. “I can guess what you three tried to do to a lady you found in the woods on her own.”

“Enough,” I said. “I will speak with you two,” I indicated the two young men, “and the Red Priest. It is time I learned more of this land.”

I followed where they led, sensing no deception from any of the three. Behind us, other men looped the fourth rope around the neck of the archer and began to raise him off the ground as well. They thought to please me. His crimes had taken place solely within his mind, at least as far as I knew. Still, I did not stop them.

Was I any better than the stone-heart, ordering the painful deaths of those who offended my sense of justice? The dark-haired girl would never know she had been avenged; her pain would not be assuaged by the deaths of her rapists. I had ordered men killed, and other men had gladly obeyed. I did not regret their deaths. The stone-heart had ordered the killings of those she believed guilty of unspeakable crimes, and thought it justice. Was I not also a monster?

I am a daughter of Barsoom, and Barsoom is a planet of great violence. John Carter reveled in the wars he fought on behalf of Helium, and in the battles he waged both as a commander and as an individual fighter. He adapted well to Barsoom; his violent nature suited that of his adopted planet.

I believe that he once loved me, or at least I still desire this to have been true, yet I always knew that he tried to wish away the real nature of Dejah Thoris. He continues to believe that the exquisitely beautiful Thern priestess Phaidor threw herself off an airship to atone for her acts of jealousy, willfully overlooking my dagger slipping under her perfect left breast before her plunge into the rocky canyon below. John Carter has seen me kill many foes, and he knows that I am far more likely to die of a sword through my heart than of old age, yet still he treats me as a breakable precious object to be protected.

I am well familiar with death, and with killing. I seemed to be finding it much easier here on Jasoom.

* * *

The slender young man led us into a cave that opened into a complex of many tunnels centered around a large central cavern with the bottom part of trees, known as roots, intruding into its walls. We entered one of the smaller caves that had been furnished with wall hangings, a wooden table and chairs. All four of us settled into them and soon a woman brought us food – simple bread and roasted meat – and a mildly alcoholic golden-brown drink. I gave them my name and a brief description of my encounter with Jaime and Brienne. I ate while the Red Priest introduced his companions and explained what I had just seen.

He was smugly self-satisfied to learn that I was indeed a princess. His eyes widened at my name; he was also named Thoris. I did not believe him at first but his thoughts and those of the others confirmed this to be true. He did not believe us to be related, but was sure that this must have some mystical importance. Only much later when I had learned to read their language did I clarify that our names were not exactly the same; I was Thoris and he was Thoros. The coincidence still strikes me as odd.

The stout youth was Gendry, a blacksmith, and the other young man was a noble known as the Lord of the Fallen Star; his actual name was Ned Dayne but I liked the poetry of “Lord of the Fallen Star.” These two young men had apparently just returned to the group, having left over a disagreement with the Stone Heart. They came back when they heard that the dark-haired older girl – her name was Long Jeyne – was to be hanged. As Gendry had said, they were too late to save her.

Almost two years before, a force of warriors set out at the command of the King’s First Minister to hunt down a band of criminals. I have never firmly determined the length of the years here, which seems to shift at times, so the timeline may not be accurate. They apparently were defeated and then the King and First Minister were both murdered by the faction supporting the outlaws as part of what sounded like an overthrow of the government. So now the hunters became the hunted. The Red Priest was second in command of the group (while still serving as a priest), and the Lord of the Fallen Star was battlefield servant to the force’s commander. At least I think that was the explanation. I could not follow Gendry’s reasons for joining but it seemed that he arrived later.

They declared themselves the “Brotherhood” and forsook any lords, instead fighting to defend the “small people” as the Red Priest described them. These were not actually undersized humans, but workers, peasants and the unemployed poor, I determined with a few questions.

“Those looked like small people dangling from ropes outside,” I observed.

“Mistakes have been made.”

I pondered that while the serving woman brought another platter of roasted meat and more of the excellent golden drink, known as “ale.” The food here was much tastier than that of Barsoom. Though I wondered why I saw no men doing such serving work. I was following tangents again. I decided to listen some more and resumed eating.

The Brotherhood continued to fight those who burned and robbed and raped, and as its original soldiers fell in battle they gained new recruits. Some of these were criminals themselves and continued their old ways. I had met and killed some of them already. I detected disgust for the criminal element in all three men, and so I decided to be honest with them.

“The archer did not lie,” I said. “I killed his companions.”

“You?” Ned asked “A woman alone?”

“I am very good at killing people. But I did not mean for the archer to die.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Gendry said. “I suppose that was my doing.”

“You did not order him hanged.”

“Neither did you.”

Gendry and Ned explained that the Brotherhood had become divided in purpose. Some wished to continue their former leader’s goal of helping and protecting the small people. Others rallied to the Stone Heart’s cause, helping her seek vengeance against the families that had murdered her and her family. The men I had killed on the road, along with the archer, had often enforced her will; this apparently is why they had been sent to murder the woman warrior Brienne.

“When you killed the other two,” Gendry said. “You left him alone, with no one to defend him. Plenty of folk wanted to see him swing, mostly for what his friends had done in Stone Heart’s name. Once Lady Stone Heart died, it was only a matter of time for him.”

“Don’t blame yourself for it,” Ned added. “You’ll notice that none of us tried to stop the hanging, either.”

I also noticed that Thoros the priest had nothing to say on the matter; his thoughts revealed shame for having allowed the Stone Heart to so easily take over leadership of the Brotherhood and indecision over whether the archer deserved his fate. A craving for alcohol confused his thoughts; I had encountered this pattern on Barsoom among the most devoted alcoholics. I realized that I had fallen silent and was expected to speak.

“Thank you,” I told Ned Dayne, returning my mind to the subject of the archer though I remained unsure of my feelings. The archer had wished me to feel the same pain and humiliation I had read in the two hanged girls’ final thoughts, thoughts that still evoked barely-suppressed horror within me. Yet I had no right to take his life; he was not a subject of Helium. That others had wished him dead, and had performed the deed, offered little absolution. I would have to consider this further.

“Please continue with your story.”

Thoros resumed his tale. The Brotherhood’s commander was killed fighting a gigantic warrior called The Mountain, and the Red Priest brought him back to life through the power of his god. The commander died several more times before handing off his power of restored life to the Stone Heart and finally dying for good.

Thoros clearly intended this to have an impact, but his tale did not impress me.

“I do not believe in any gods.”

“You’ve already felt their power. They brought you to us.”

“I have met my goddess,” I said. “It did not go well.”

“You have walked with the gods? What blessings did she bestow?”

“She had me placed in a . . . a small space that I could not leave.”

“A cell? A goddess put you in prison?”

“Yes, a prison cell. She was not a very good goddess. She was also quite ugly. So my husband killed her. This pleased me.”

John Carter always claimed that he did not kill Issus, he merely revealed her mortality and then her followers ripped her to pieces. Yet he was responsible for her death, just as I was responsible for the archer’s. I suspect that his dissembling in this matter was due to his reluctance to kill women. I had no similar compunction. I hoped that he retained his.

“There is only one god,” Thoros preached, “and he cannot be killed by a mortal or anyone else.”

“All things die,” I said. “Including those who claim to be gods.”

The Red Priest clearly disagreed, but moved on.

“Despite your lack of belief, the one true god has chosen you as his instrument.”

He proceeded to tell a tale of an ancient hero named Azor Ahai, who wielded a flaming sword and used it to defeat terrible undead creatures from the frozen lands to the north. Just how he accomplished this, the story left unstated.

The sword gained its power when he thrust it between the willing breasts of his beloved. Azor Ahai would be reborn one day “when the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers.” The Red Priest believed I was that hero, brought here for divine purpose. Were my red eyes, unique in this land, not sufficient proof? And my flaming sword? I was an instrument of his red god; I was glad he did not know that I came from a red planet – what would seem, were this Jasoom, a red star in the night sky.

“I do not think the Stone Heart’s breasts were willing,” I said. “And she was not my beloved.”

“By your description of her death,” he countered, “Brienne was willing.”

“She was not the Lannister’s beloved. His cruel words made clear that she was anything but. And I never knew her while she lived.

“Further, I was not born amid smoke and salt,” I had not been born at all, but hatched. “And I have woken no mythical beasts.”

“You can’t take the old prophecies literally,” Thoros said. “They have a deeper meaning than that.”

“I am familiar with this style of argument,” I answered. “You wish the meaning of your holy words to be literal when that suits you, figurative when it does not.”

“You cannot deny that your sword burst into flame,” Thoros argued. “I have also wielded a flaming sword. I make it burn by coating it in a special oil and setting it alight when no one is watching. I know what a false flaming sword looks like. Yours was real.”

“Of course it was real. It surprised me as well. But I serve no god. No true god allows what I have seen in one long day.”

“Be that as it may. You have a destiny to fulfill.”

“That is true. I am here to find my husband, John Carter. I am trying to find his home country, a place known as Virginia.”

None of these men had ever heard of John Carter, or Virginia. The Red Priest asked after my own home country. He thought that it could not be on the Eastern Continent, but might be on the Southern Continent.

“I am from the South.”

“From Dorne?” asked the Lord of the Fallen Star. “Your skin is close in shade to many of our people, but I have never heard your name.”

“No, the Southern Continent.” None of them seemed to know anything of those lands. I was lucky. “My city is called Helium, and I am its princess.”

The Red Priest believed me insane. I could not say that he was wrong.

“How did you get here?”

I could think of no plausible lie. So I used the truth, however implausible.

“I do not know. I suddenly appeared in a clearing in the forest, with no clothing, weapons or anything else. I took the sword from the heart of a woman warrior killed by a man she loved who did not love her, and I stole the archer’s pants. He spoke truly in this regard as well.”

I had told the priest something even more insane, and just as quickly he fully believed me. He had brought the dead to life; my fantastic tale paled in comparison.

“That was the work of the one true god. I have seen this in visions. You arrived exactly where he meant you to arrive. You were meant to find that sword, as Brienne was meant to sacrifice herself by having it thrust between her willing breasts. Her sacrifice gave it the power to ignite and to kill Lady Stone Heart. You are the wielder of the flaming sword, who will save mankind from its most bitter enemy.”

He seemed to know more of the encounter in the forest than should be possible, but I could not recall if I had described exactly how Brienne came to be slain by Jaime. His thoughts said he had recounted the Azor Ahai legend accurately, at least he believed he had, so he had probably not crafted it to match the circumstances of my arrival and Brienne’s death.

Thoros believed me the savior of his world. Ned concentrated on not staring at my breasts. Gendry wondered if he had done the right thing by encouraging the hangings, and hoped that in choosing to support me he had chosen someone less evil than the Stone Heart.

I had no time to save their world. I did not know how to express how imperative it was that I find John Carter. Because John Carter forgets. Red Barsoomians can live for well over 1,000 of our planet’s years, and our minds retain memories for that entire span. John Carter never asked my age, or about my life before we met. I have lived for 441 years and I can remember breaking out of my egg, though it is a hazy memory, and I well remember playing with my father Tardos Mors in the gardens of Helium as a child.

My husband has no idea of his own age, but believes himself to be quite old – he has possibly lived for thousands of years. Ras Thavas, Barsoom’s foremost expert on the mind, believed that John Carter’s Jasoomian brain is not adapted to that long a span of years. When it becomes overloaded with memories, it wipes them clean to protect John Carter from the madness of too many lifetimes crashing into his consciousness.

John Carter feared losing his memories. And so he kept a written journal of his adventures, his friends and his family. I strongly suspected that the transition from Jasoom to Barsoom had begun the steady erasure of his earlier memories: his life in Virginia, which he described so colorfully to me soon after we first met, had become much vaguer in later years even as memories of his adventures with Tars Tarkas and Kantos Kan remained vivid. Had he already started to forget falling in love with me? Is that why he left me? And would his memory loss grow even deeper now that he had teleported between planets once more? Would he remember me at all, and if so, which Dejah Thoris would he remember? The one he had loved, or the one he grew to despise?

* * *

I was now very tired. Ned promised to care for my horses, and showed me a small rock chamber deep in the cave complex where he said I could sleep. One of the serving women came along, apparently so that no one would think he and I were mating, and Ned insisted that she find more clothing for me. She said she had no extras, which was not true, and finally went to the kitchens and returned with a shapeless tunic with no sleeves than draped down to my knees. She also brought a large bag made of some unfortunate animal’s stomach and filled with drinking water.

The rock chamber had a wooden door with brackets to either side and a wooden bar to allow someone inside to lock it; Ned thought this would keep me safe from would-be rapists and Stone Heart supporters. The serving woman regretted that it would also keep her and her friends from beating me with sticks while I slept. She planned to gather them and beat another woman they disliked instead.

Ned spared few thoughts for me, other than the continued embarrassment at seeing my breasts. He worried that he had not done enough to save Long Jeyne, and regretted that this made him a failure as a future lord. He felt a great deal of horror, shame and sadness over the rape and murder of the two girls and worked hard to keep from breaking into tears. Adult men in this culture, as in mine, did not let others see them cry.

They left me alone in the chamber. Though I was very tired, leftover adrenalin and the pressure on my mind of so many unbridled thoughts so close by kept me awake for some time. Ned had left me a burning candle and a holder for it, and I looked at my new lodgings. A crack in the rock provided fresh air, and I saw no evidence of large vermin. The sleeping platform consisted of a large sack filled with what appeared to be leaves and a thin cloth that I later learned was called a “blanket.”

When I lay on the sack the leaves poked through it and into my skin. I spread the cloth on top of it, as I did not feel cold, and stared at the rock ceiling of the chamber. Though many people had now fallen asleep, I still had to concentrate to force away their thoughts. Several women had joined the serving woman to discuss the beating they planned for a woman who had mated, or might have mated, with their husbands. A man sharpened his sword and thought about placing his sex organ inside me, imagining that I gasped and cried out, apparently in pleasure. Several men played a gambling game of some sort.

Ned believed it shameful for a man to cry, and it is no different for a princess. Even so, I did. I had done foolish things before, but nothing could compare to this. I had abandoned my family and my city, who love me, to search for a man who did not – and apparently had managed to land on the wrong _planet_. I felt very lonely, and very sorry for myself. I was alone in a savage world, with no means by which to return home, and no idea if John Carter had even come here, or if he would return to Barsoom with me if he had.

At some point I fell asleep, to endure a series of nightmares – some prompted by my own misery, some the influence of others’ thoughts I absorbed in my sleep. 

* * *

I awoke some time later, unsure how I had come to be in this small rock chamber now lit with a very dim gray light coming through a single small crack. I had been trapped in a strange dream, but as I became oriented to my surroundings I realized that I was trapped in a strange reality.

I found a piece of rope under the sack of leaves and used it to make a very primitive shoulder harness for my new sword. I strapped one of Brienne’s larger blades to my thigh using the band she had worn. I put on the dreadful tunic and looped my sword over my shoulder, then unbarred the door and wandered through the caves. The people inside looked at me, but most barely acknowledged my presence. I had become very hungry, and finally found several women standing around a large vat of some kind of boiled grain.

“You want to eat, you have to pay,” said one of them, the serving woman from the previous night. Her spite-filled thoughts regretted having to speak with me at all.

I dug through the small bag of coins and found a small copper one. I handed it to her and she gave me a large wooden bowl of the boiled grain and a wooden spoon.

“Take it outside,” she said. “Don’t need your kind in here.”

She angered me and I considered putting her in her place with a sound slap across the face, the correct answer for a servant speaking impudently to a princess, but I realized that would be unwise in a new and strange environment and decided to eat instead.

I did not like this place. Yet I would need to be familiar with my weapon, my horses, this planet’s gravity and its language before I could set out to find my husband. And I knew nothing of its society and politics, ignorance that could easily prove fatal.

Outside the sun had risen some time before and it was now mid-morning. I found a large rock to sit upon and eat my boiled grain, and watched the people go about their work, play and mostly their general laziness. If these were revolutionaries, the king would remain on his throne until he died a natural death.

I finished my grain and placed the bowl and spoon with others in a large bin I saw near the entrance to the caves. And then I set out to find Gendry, who worked with metal. It only took a few moments to detect his thoughts, and I followed them around the rocky hill with its smattering of large trees to his workshop nestled among the rocks. I hoped he could modify my new sword.

John Carter had written and illustrated a very popular book on Barsoom, titled _Swords of Jasoom_. He had included a blade very similar to this one, called a “long sword.” He had licensed its manufacture, though it was not as popular as the slightly curved “saber” that he favored. I liked my new sword very much. With its light weight and perfect balance it acted as an extension of my arm. Most swords of Barsoom have a blade of unequal width that can be awkward when making intricate moves; they are purposefully designed to reward expertise and punish novices. I suspected that this blade might be more difficult to handle were it not made of this wonderfully strong, lightweight form of steel unknown to me.

When I was sure I was alone – I scanned carefully using my telepathy – I ordered the sword to flame on again. It did nothing. I thought the command at it, I spoke the command. Nothing happened. Perhaps the Red Priest was right, and the flames were somehow connected to Brienne’s willing death. I did not see how this could be true, but the facts did meet his bizarre claim. Surely there were more facts involved that I did not yet possess; I did not intend to stab anyone in the breast to test this hypothesis.

Gendry’s workshop, known as a “smithy,” included a forge in which he worked with hot metal, a large anvil on which he pounded the softened metal, and a “slack tub,” a large water-filled container built of mortared stones in which the hot metal would be cooled.

Unlike the other people I had so far encountered, Gendry was pleased to see me.

“How do you find your new lodgings, Princess?”

“I am grateful for the place to sleep,” I said, truthfully. “But many of the people seem to wish I was elsewhere.”

He laughed.

“You really are a princess, trained to speak carefully, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I don’t like them much either,” he said, but he smiled to soften his words. “Makes me glad the smithy’s on this side of the hill.”

“Why are they so hostile?”

“They’ve lost a great deal: their homes, close family members, their way of life. Lady Stone Heart promised them vengeance. You took that away when you killed her.”

“She was evil.”

“Oh, I agree,” he said. “I’ll live with the sight of Jeyne and Willow – my friends – dangling on ropes for a very long time. I’m glad you killed her. Not everyone agrees.

“But you came here to ask me something. What can I do for you?”

“It is my sword,” I said. “I would like some changes made to it, to remove these ridiculous jewels and decorations, to extend the grip so that I can easily fight with two hands and wrap it with simple leather.”

“Easy enough. Anything else?”

I would like to replace this absurd golden beast on the pommel with a red orb.”

“Even easier,” he said. “I can make one out of reddish bronze that will look really fine. Put your hands over here.”

He pointed to a flat white rock nearby. I lay my hands on it and he outlined them using a piece of burned wood.

“This’ll help me make the grip fit your hands exactly.”

I hopped atop a large pillar of rock next to his forge and folded my legs under me as I looked down on the bed of hot charcoal on which he worked. I already knew that electricity was unknown here, but did these people have no better fuels?

“You enjoy this,” I said.

He seemed amused by my taking the raised perch, but pleased to talk about his work.

“Very much,” he said. “I was taught by the man who made this sword. This is his mark here. It’s a pleasure to work with it.”

“What is this strange metal?”

“It’s called Valyrian steel. It was forged long ago in a land that has since been destroyed. Some say magic was involved, and some say dragons, but no one knows how to produce such steel today or anything like it. My teacher was one of the very few who could even re-forge Valyrian steel.”

“Are all swords made by . . . special workers?”

“Blacksmiths.”

“All special workers are blacksmiths?”

“Blacksmiths work with metal, armorers are blacksmiths who work with weapons and armor. Workers with one specialty – metalwork, weaving cloth, whatever – are craftsmen.”

“It takes a great deal of training to make a sword.”

“It does,” he agreed. “Each one is an individual work of art, or at least it should be. A sword has its own personality, and so a notable sword has a name. Will you rename this sword?”

“No,” I said, “that is not our way. A sword is a tool for killing. One should not make that seem . . .”

“Romantic?”

“Yes.”

“I agree,” Gendry said. “I hate the killing. Yet there’s an art to making weapons that calls to me. So I understand that there’s an art to using them that calls to some as well. It’s hard to balance these feelings.”

John Carter definitely felt that call; he killed with a passion that sometimes struck jealousy into my heart. I knew that made him monstrous in the eyes of some. Actually, it did so in the eyes of many. I killed without feeling anything at all. That made me far worse.

“You are a complicated man, Gendry.” I pronounced it “Gen-Dree,” after the fashion of Helium.

“Gendry. It’s pronounced Gendry.”

“Gendry. Can you also find me a simple . . . sword holder?”

“A scabbard?” he asked “Yes, I can make one without these jewels and filigree. You wish to draw it from your hip or over your shoulder?”

“Over my shoulder.”

“You’re tall enough to wear this on your belt. You know it’s slower to pull over your shoulder and takes two hands.”

“I am aware,” I said. “I am used to carrying . . . another weapon on my hip, one apparently not known in these lands.”

I felt uneasy without the comforting weight of a heavy pistol tied low on my thigh, but these people had no firearms.

“So you’ll stick with what you know?”

“Exactly so.”

He nodded agreement.

“It will take me a day or so to finish the work.”

“Thank you. I will be back.”

I left Gendry to pound his hot metal, and walked back around the hill. Gendry genuinely liked me and wanted to help. That raised my spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris has a life-altering encounter.


	7. Chapter Three (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter first sees his princess.

Chapter Three (John Carter)

Early one afternoon, I accompanied Illyrio to purchase my woman as well as a woman to meet his new guests’ needs. At the pillow house, a man I had not seen on my previous visits greeted Illyrio warmly.

“My dear friend,” Illyrio introduced me, “Captain John Carter of Virginia. He has been training my guards.”

“Captain Carter,” the man said, bowing deeply. Like Illyrio, he wore billowing robes and had garishly dyed hair, in this case bright orange, and a small, blue-colored beard. He was not nearly so obese as my friend and patron. I returned the bow with a respectful nod; the title touched something deep in my memories that I could not fully identify.

“This is my friend Altar Rezak,” Illyrio said. “He is my partner in this establishment as well as its mother house in Lys. Altar, we're here to buy two women from the house.”

“Two! I had understood that you needed one skilled whore to teach a virgin the ways of love.”

“My friend John Carter has visited our house, and wishes to take one of the girls as his own.”

“I’m certainly willing to discuss it,” Altar said. “But as you know, a Lys-trained whore is worth a great deal, and hard to come by in Pentos.”

“Perhaps not this time,” Illyrio said.

“Truly? Which girl do you desire, Captain Carter?”

“The red-haired woman named Calye,” I said. “With pale skin and a dragon tattoo. I owe you ten coppers from my last visit.”

I placed the coins on the table next to Altar. He did not take them, instead politely coughing to cover his involuntary laugh.

“Magister Illyrio is correct,” Altar said. “My madam has been using her to clean the sheets and floors. She’s not even useful performing those tasks. We would have put her out on the street as soon as we bought a new house slave.”

“Your price?” I asked.

“She’s yours,” the proprietor said. “No charge. But surely you’d like to see what else we have on offer?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “She’s the one I want.”

“He seeks to punish himself for some great sin,” Illyrio explained. “I’ve tried to convince him otherwise.”

“A friend to my partner is a friend to me,” Altar said. “Let me propose something to you. Try out the girl I’ve selected to teach Illyrio’s guest. You can assure that she is suitable, and perhaps she will change your mind.”

Their thoughts said they considered this a friendly gesture, and so not wishing to insult them, I followed a tall, lithe blonde woman down a different and far cleaner corridor. She walked with a sway to her hips, emphasizing her feminine curves. She led me into a well-appointed room with tapestries on the walls, rugs on the floor and a large, silk-covered bed in its center.

“I’m called Doreah,” she said in a seductive voice as she turned to me. She had smooth skin, in a land where most had blemishes and the marks of disease, and a slight point to her nose. Most men would consider her beautiful, but this sparked a memory that seemed to repel me. “For the next hour, I’m whatever, I’m whoever, you want me to be.”

She wore a sheer white dress much like Calye’s, and now slid it off her shoulder to display both breasts. They were large and perfectly formed, unlike Calye’s, and despite my wishes I felt myself grow hard.

She stepped forward and untied my loose Dothraki-style trousers.

“So you do want me,” she said softly. As Calye had, she began to sink to her knees, and once again I drew her to her feet. I bent forward to kiss her, and she didn’t turn away.

I pulled off my tunic, and gently pushed her toward the bed. She rose to meet me, and I put my hand on her shoulder to press her onto her back.

“Stay still,” I said. “Like a woman should.”

“Let me show you,” she said, “what a real woman can do.”

“No,” I said. “I know what I want.”

“I need to show you,” she said, “or I’ll never get out of this place.”

“You’re here for my needs,” I said. “Be quiet and spread your legs.”

She did not comply, so I forced them apart and entered her. She whimpered, and then whispered harshly through gritted teeth even as I thrust into her.

“You bastard. You fucking bastard. You paid for the finest fuck in Pentos and you’re raping her instead.”

She slapped me and squirmed beneath me. I grew more excited, pinned her hands above her head and continued thrusting into her.

“A whore can’t be raped,” I said. “Not once she’s been paid.”

I pulled out and shrugged my knees forward to place my manhood between her full breasts. I finished there, with much of my seed pulsing onto her neck and face. That sight gave me added satisfaction.

I released her, rose and put my clothes back on after wiping my manhood with a convenient towel. Doreah lay on her side, red-faced and silently staring at me. In her thoughts she wanted to cry, but she hated me too much to let me see her weakness.

“I’ll tell your owner that you met my needs,” I said. “And are fully satisfactory to teach the princess.”

* * *

As I had promised, for I am a man of my word, I told Illyrio that the girl would do. Truthfully, I found her far more pleasing to the eye but otherwise little different from Calye. I seemed to recall that all women were much the same in that regard; beautiful or plain, they exist to provide a man with release. A woman shows compliance by lying back and spreading her legs, and a man relieves his needs there. Anything else is twisted and perverse.

Doreah and Calye arrived at Illyrio’s mansion the next day, escorted by two guards from the pillow house. Illyrio assigned Doreah a small room in the slave quarters, and sent Calye and her small bundle of belongings to mine. I found her there when I returned after dinner, sitting on the edge of my bed with her hands folded inside her knees.

“You . . . you bought me,” she said, rising as I entered the room. “I didn’t think you would.”

She sniffled, genuinely affected.

“You could have had lovely Doreah and her big lovely tits, the perfect face and body. You chose, you chose me instead.”

“Your owner gave you to me,” I said. “You’ll remain here, and take your meals with the kitchen servants. You may go into their yard to exercise, but you may not leave the ground of the mansion nor enter the areas forbidden to kitchen servants.”

“So now I’m your prisoner as well as your slave.”

“You’re here to meet my needs. When I leave this place, you’ll accompany me, and continue to meet my needs.”

“So I’m your, your fuck toy.”

“You asked me to buy you. I did, or at least asked for you as a gift. Take off your shift.”

She complied and lay on the bed, spreading her legs and lying still like a proper woman. I entered her and once again finished on her belly. She did not cry until I was done.

* * *

Illyrio greeted me the next morning at breakfast with a broad smile. We sat at a polished stone table in one of the gardens, surrounded by flowers and brightly-colored birds.

“Our guests arrive today,” he said. “And our grand enterprise begins. I have a feeling that you, my friend, have a central role to play.”

“And what role would that be?”

“As I said, it’s only a feeling. If only it were you with the birthright.”

A short while later, a servant arrived to inform us that the prince and princess awaited us in Illyrio’s audience hall. We rose and followed; she was an attractive woman and I appreciated the shape outlined by her sheer clothing, but I knew that Illyrio reserved his female servants for his own needs. He had bought me the woman I desired, and it would be ungracious of me to make use of his other women.

The two Targaryen siblings were thin; the boy perhaps five-foot-eight and the girl substantially smaller. And she was utterly beautiful.

Like her brother, she had long silver-blonde hair. Her face was perfectly formed, with a pair of smoldering purple eyes. She was petite, wearing a gossamer gown that showed a woman’s curves with small pointed breasts. I was immediately smitten.

This was a true princess. Delicate, lovely and gentle. Someone to be protected, someone who knew her place at the side of a man. A man could conquer worlds for a woman like that.

Her brother’s similarly delicate and feminine appearance gave quite the opposite impression. Shrill and arrogant, with nothing to offer beyond his name. I heard him boast and watched him preen, but said nothing. Truly I spent most of the interview watching his sister instead. She said nothing the entire time, demurely looking down for the most part, but her reticence only increased my desire. I felt a surge of resentment against assertive women, though I knew not from whence it came. Doreah was nothing to me; I would assure that she had been disarmed before using her again, but I otherwise found her hatred merely amusing. This feeling lay deeper in my past.

Illyrio went over the outline of his plan. Daenerys would marry Khal Drogo, who desired marriage with the world’s most beautiful woman. Illyrio apparently believed this to be true, though I would not have thought Drogo capable of appreciating the stunning creature I saw before me. Drogo in turn would place his khalasar at the service of Viserys and conquer Westeros in his name.

Daenerys let nothing show in her expression, but in her thoughts the idea of marrying a barbarian _khal_ terrified her. She was a virgin, with little idea of relations between man and wife, and had grown up dreaming of marrying a nobleman and bearing his children. Viserys apparently had discussed marrying her himself, which repelled her as it did me. She did not know which was worse, Drogo or Viserys.

But the Dothraki, Illyrio was explaining, were vital to the Targaryen restoration. Their arrival in Westeros would merely provide the spark for widespread revolution. People made Targaryen banners in secret, Illyrio said, awaiting the day when their true king would return. The common people hated the usurper, a man named Robert, and groaned under his weak and inept rule. Just how Viserys would be a different king than this Robert, Illyrio carefully did not say; none of the tale he wove for the siblings had even a grain of truth and my friend spun it from thin air. From what Illyrio’s thoughts revealed, Robert was a wine-soaked whoremonger with little interest in ruling, but Viserys’ father had been a murderous lunatic with a fondness for setting his subjects aflame. The people had no wish to replace their self-anointed king, despite his many and real flaws. Given the choice, I would have taken the drunkard as well.

Illyrio soon tired of Prince Viserys, and skillfully dismissed him to the bathhouse. The prince, fool that he was in matters great and small, believed it to be his own idea. A female servant appeared to guide the princess to her own bath. Illyrio and I returned to his breakfast table and seated ourselves among the birds and flowers. My bacon had grown cold, but I ate it anyway.

“So, John Carter,” Illyrio began, pouring coffee for me. I felt as though I had been without coffee for years, and drank it greedily “Your assessment of our prince.”

“He’ll never become king without an army behind him,” I said. “And he’ll never remain king, no matter how many armies are behind him.”

“He has the birthright.”

“And that has value,” I conceded. “For a time, at least. But having tasted the overthrow of a mad king, the Westerosi will not hesitate to overthrow another.”

“You think him mad?”

“You don’t?”

“I do,” Illyrio admitted, with some reluctance in his thoughts. “But what other course is there? The girl will never be accepted as queen in her own right.”

“Why do you care?” I asked, my curiosity aroused.

“I have a plan, my friend,” he said, becoming rather animated. “What do you know of the Westerosi?”

“Only what you’ve told me.”

“Well then. They have no true government, only a feudal system. Their king is served by a council of what they call ‘masters,’ each nominally in charge of some function. Like the outward form of a government, but without any structure behind it.”

I nodded for him to continue.

“The key position is the one they name ‘Master of Coin.’ This master oversees all financial affairs in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“And you seek this position to skim money on your own behalf.”

“Oh no, my friend,” he laughed softly. “Well yes, I do, but it is a grander plan than simple corruption. Westeros is an unbelievably rich land, with fertile farms, orchards, vineyards, mines and woodlands. Far better endowed with such natural gifts than is Essos, and yet it is far poorer. The Westerosi know nothing of finance or banking. Few of them can perform even the most simple sort of mathematics. They have no concept of accounting or credit. They are deeply ignorant of all the financial arts, and for the most part, of the value of money.”

“And you would teach these things to them.”

“To an extent. I would bring them banking, and simple accounting, and the use of credit. I would teach them to collect taxes as modern account transfers rather than in coin or, as most of them still do, in kind.”

“And so the crown’s revenues would vastly increase,” I said, “but only some of this increase would make its way to the king’s treasury.”

“Exactly, my friend. He would have so much more money that he wouldn’t miss a little for Illyrio.”

“Nor would he miss a great deal for Illyrio.”

“No,” Illyrio smiled, “I imagine he would not.”

“So the fact that Viserys is an idiot is actually helpful to your scheme.”

“To an extent,” Illyrio repeated, “that is true. But I require a useful idiot. One who is not so hot-headed as to simply ignite fresh rebellions against his rule.”

“That is not Viserys,” I said. “He’s just as likely to get himself killed by insulting the wrong man in a pillow house. Or woman, for that matter.”

“You could conquer Westeros.”

And this first time that I heard the idea, I laughed.

“I’m not the Beggar King,” I said. “I’ve never seen Westeros. I couldn’t find it on a map.”

“Neither can Viserys,” Illyrio said. “And unlike him, you have military skill.”

“Skill with a sword isn’t the same as leading armies.”

“And you have what is called charisma. Men will follow you. I’ve seen it in my own guards, even the emotionless Unsullied.”

And that was true. Somehow I knew that I could, indeed, lead and direct armies. And had done so many times.

“If you were to marry the princess, and Viserys were to have an accident, then you would be in line to rule.”

“I thought you had plans for the princess, to trade her virtue to gain one or more of the Free Cities’ fleets and armies.”

“No,” Illyrio said. “That part I told truly. The plan is to marry her to Khal Drogo. He leads the largest and fiercest of the Dothraki armies. And he has never known defeat.”

“We’ve met.”

“Yes,” Illyrio said. “I know. You fought and killed an entire family of Dothraki warriors, and Drogo named you a man of the Dothraki. Which means that you have to right to challenge him for leadership.”

“So I kill Khal Drogo, marry the princess, conquer Westeros and serve as your happy, useful idiot.”

“More or less. You don’t wish to bed the princess?”

I said nothing.

“Come now, my friend. I saw you look at her. You want her, as do most men. You can’t stand the thought of the brute Drogo putting her on all fours and taking her like a mare, can you? Seems you’re finished with your need for punishment.”

“You are mad.”

“Am I? You believe that Khal Drogo can conquer Westeros?”

“No.”

“So I surmised. Tell me why.”

“No siegecraft. No balanced arms. No discipline. They’ll win some battles, but they’ll take no cities. They’d be worse than useless against the inevitable insurgency their rape, looting and murder will provoke. All of that assumes that you can actually get them across the sea.”

“So they are only useful as part of an invading army.”

“If that. Was this your plan all along?”

“What plan?”

“That I should be your cat’s paw?”

“I do not know the expression.”

“Your puppet, who will conquer Westeros so that you might loot its treasury.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Illyrio said. “But do not think of me as a puppet-master, perhaps instead as a financial advisor. I increase your treasury’s yield, and I keep, say, one coin out of four as my fee.”

“One out of ten.”

“Ah, John Carter,” he smiled. “We have agreed as to what you are. Now we but haggle over your price. Two out of ten.”

“One out of eight,” I countered. “Of the increase, not the current revenue.”

“Deal.”

And so without a penny or soldier to my own name, I had agreed to conquer a continent and reign as its king.

“Tell me about these friends of yours,” I said, “who also hope to make me their puppet-king.”

He hesitated; his thoughts showed great reluctance. He owed personal loyalty to his co-conspirator. It appeared there truly was only one “friend.”

“Do they even exist?” I asked. “Or are we on our own?”

“They exist,” he admitted, “but most are paid for their service, such as those who delivered the prince and princess.”

“And just one is an actual participant.”

“Yes,” he said. “You picked that up from so little?”

“I’m experienced in noticing details. This one participant, he’s Westerosi?”

“No,” Illyrio said. “He’s from Lys, originally. We grew up together here in Pentos as poor boys. He stole expensive items from the magisters and the merchants, and I bravely fought the non-existent criminals who stole them and returned the precious objects to their owners. For a fee, of course. We grew rich.”

“There’s more to this story.”

“Yes, there is. Varys, my friend, built a system for obtaining information. He used orphan children to overhear or to steal documents. It was very effective, and made us even richer.”

“Information is power.” I had heard this said, though I knew not where. I accepted that it had its uses, but true power flows from the point of a sword.

“Just so. Eventually his skills came to the notice of King Aerys of Westeros. Deliberately of course; no one could trace Varys’ activities if he did not wish it so. Aerys invited him to Westeros and he has been there ever since.”

“He serves the man who killed his king?”

“Robert killed the crown prince, in battle. Aerys was murdered by one of his own guards.”

“So what does Varys want out of this scheme?”

“He’d tell you that he does it all for the good of the realm. He’s already a rich man, though he spends little of it. He never truly accepted his childhood: sold into slavery by his parents, his balls cut off and then abandoned on the streets.”

“He wishes to save the world?” I asked, trying not to scoff. “Viserys will triple his father’s body count, easily. He’ll be far worse a king than the one in power now.”

“Then it’s a good thing that Viserys will never be king. Varys will want to bring just rule to Westeros.”

“By supporting first a lunatic, then a penniless man he’s never met. I think I should meet this Varys as soon as can be arranged.”

* * *

“You seem different,” Calye said as she pulled off her black shift and lay on her back. “Did something happen?”

“I have a purpose now,” I said. “A plan for my life.”

“Does it . . . does it include me?”

“No,” I said, pushing her legs apart and pushing myself inside her. She cried as I finished on her belly.

“It’s not my fault,” she said. “Getting rid of me would be a waste. Just a fucking waste.”

“There’s no place for you, where I’m going.”

“It’s not my fault,” she repeated. “If we had more money, I could prance about in Myrish lace and you’d still want me.”

Perhaps for the first time I truly took in her hooked nose, the death-like pallor of her skin and her oddly-shaped bosom. I recalled the perfect face, the perfect bosom of Daenerys. I refused to show disrespect with a lie, but I tried to cushion my words as best I could.

“You just don’t meet my needs anymore.”

“I do. It’s not my fault. You’ve never wanted to see all that I can do for you. Let me . . . let me show you.”

She slid from the bed to the floor on her knees, taking me into her hands. Despite the slickness from our love-making, she began to ply her tongue along my length. Involuntarily, I responded, the hot juices of my passion striking her in the face. She looked up and smiled.

“I’m your slave. Keep me . . . or kill me. Those are your choices.”

I found a towel and handed it to her. She simply held it.

“Wipe your face.” She complied.

“Which is it?” she asked. “Will you keep me, or kill me? If you’re going to put me on the street, that’s killing me. So have the decency to do it with a blade through my . . . through my heart, like a man.”

“I don’t kill women.”

“Then I’m yours, whether you want me or not. And I know that you . . . that you want me.”

And, may whatever gods exist forgive me, in that moment I did. I pushed her back onto the bed and entered her again. This time I finished inside her, as she cried.

* * *

The next morning, I attended Illyrio while Viserys made his usual mewling demands. I had not yet considered how to rid myself of the annoying Beggar King; I could not murder him, of course, and to challenge him with a blade would be the same as murder.

“I’m giving the barbarian my sister,” Viserys began, even before he sat on the perfumed cushions spread before Illyrio. “When do I get my army?”

Illyrio sat upon a small pile of cushions, a spread of coffee and pastries before him. I stood behind him, a sword on my hip and large mug of coffee in my hand, saying nothing.

“Patience, Your Grace, patience. We have not even made a marriage pact as yet.”

“She’s a Targaryen princess. She’s beautiful and she’s untouched. A virgin, a full-grown woman, aged eight-and-ten. For such a prize, he should be on his knees offering me his gratitude.”

“The Dothraki kneel to no one,” Illyrio said. “Not even the last Targaryen. Khal Drogo will be your ally, not your subject.”

“If he fails to kneel, then he’ll know what it is to wake the dragon.”

Involuntarily, I laughed, choking on my coffee.

“You think I jest?” Viserys demanded. “Who are you to question the dragon?”

“One who’s seen war,” I said. “And seen fools.”

“You think me a fool?”

“Of course I do,” I said. “As would any man. As does everyone, from the servant who empties your chamber pot to the Prince of Pentos.”

“I . . . I will strike you down, commoner!”

“With what? Your strong sword arm?”

I should not have so mocked a guest of my friend Illyrio, but I could not help myself. Viserys stormed away before we could see the tears stream down his face. Illyrio sighed.

“You complicate my plot, my friend,” he said. “Now we must move far faster than I had planned, without time to inform my other friend.”

“What needs doing?”

“I think you know exactly what needs doing.”

* * *

I spent the afternoon with Belwas, sparring with several different weapons. He was surprisingly nimble given his round shape and I enjoyed testing his metal. Afterwards we sat on one of Illyrio’s terraces, drinking wine and enjoying grilled lamb with fruit and an odd flat bread while we spoke of swordplay and battles fought. Belwas knew much of this continent, having fought in many cities and been celebrated for his prowess.

I left Strong Belwas to return to my chambers, but heard screams as I entered the mansion. A quick telepathic scan showed that they came from Calye, and I followed their sound to find her in Viserys’ chambers along with Illyrio and several servants. Viserys sprawled in an ornate marble bathtub, a kitchen knife stuck in his throat.

“I . . . I brought him wine and found him thus,” she said. She wore the breast-baring costume of Illyrio’s household servants, which looked somewhat ridiculous on her. “Someone had killed him! It’s . . . it’s not my fault.”

That someone was my bed warmer, who had taken over wine delivery duty from another kitchen slave with the express intent to murder Viserys on my behalf. He had demanded sex with her and she had complied, straddling him in the bath and stabbing him with his own cheese-knife in the midst of his passion. His last sight in life had been Calye’s oddly-shaped, death-white breasts.

“Did anyone see someone else enter the prince’s chamber?”

Before the servants could answer Illyrio, a high-pitched scream sounded from the doorway. Daenerys had arrived to find her only remaining family member dead in his bath. Doreah stood behind her, smiling.

“Take her away,” Illyrio told Doreah. “Comfort her as best you can.”

I wished to rush to her side, but Illyrio stopped me with a hand on my arm where no one else could see.

“Everyone out,” he told the crowd. “All but Calye and Carter.”

They fled, shutting the double doors behind them.

“Did Carter tell you to kill the prince?” Illyrio demanded of my woman. “Or was this some misguided attempt to help him on your own?”

“I didn’t kill him,” she said. “It’s not my fault. I . . . I, I told you, I found him this way.”

“I should have you killed and buried in the garden,” Illyrio said. “Instead you’re Carter’s problem. You kill again without his permission, you fuck again without his permission, you shit without his permission, I’ll have you strangled.”

Illyrio waddled out, not nearly as angry as he pretended, and left us alone with the corpse. He’d planted the suggestion with Calye, though he hadn’t expected her to murder Viserys within an hour.

“It’s not my fault,” Calye said. “I did this for you, to show you that I’m, that I’m yours, body and soul.”

“What gossip did you hear?”

“You . . . you and Illyrio plan to get rid of Viserys, then have you marry the princess, challenge and kill the leader of the Dothraki and become, become king of Westeros.”

I had a blade in the back of my waistband. I considered sticking it between her mis-shaped breasts. But I don’t kill women. At least I didn’t then.

“And what do you expect?”

“To remain by your side, as your woman and your, your soldier. Not thrown away after you marry the princess, or locked away in shame. You’ll teach me to fight by day, and you’ll, you’ll fuck me by night.”

“I’ll have a wife.”

“You think you can spray your come all over a princess’ face? Or even pound her night after night like you do to me? She’s a _princess_. You still . . . you still need me.”

I felt my guts twist at the word “princess,” not knowing why at the time. Calye was not wrong, but I considered that if I married the princess I would also acquire Doreah and any other handmaidens who waited on Daenerys. Doreah’s hatred made the thought of entering her excite me even more. I could use Doreah for my needs and dispose of Calye, and with her the evidence that Viserys had been murdered.

“I can’t parade you around and shame my wife.”

“Then, then don’t. Train me as one of your guards. Women fight in Essos, ask Illyrio if you don’t, you don’t believe me. No one will question that, and you can fuck me whenever you want.”

I almost laughed aloud, even as the thought of a woman taking up the sword sent a pulse of anger through me. Calye was a small woman, as small as Princess Daenerys. She would barely be able to heft a sword, much less use it. Yet in a moment of weakness, I relented. I grabbed her roughly by the back of the neck and pulled her close, looking down into her face.

“If you breathe a word of this, or if you ever fuck another man again, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Show me I’m still yours,” she said. “Fuck me now. Right here, here on the prince’s bed.”

And so I did.

* * *

Instead of Calye, it was Viserys quietly buried in Illyrio’s garden. His sister cried, and I wished to comfort her, but Illyrio once again signaled me to remain aloof and leave that task to Doreah.

Four days later, Drogo rode into Illyrio’s courtyard with four other men. Three were Dothraki, and the fourth a white man with thinning brown hair and a battered face. Illyrio and I went to meet them.

Drogo spoke to the white man in Dothraki, telling him to greet us in whatever manner was needed.

“Khal Drogo greets you,” the man said. His thoughts revealed a limited imagination. “He is eager to meet his future bride, and the future king of the Western lands.”

“Extend to him my own greetings,” Illyrio said. “And please inform the khal that the prince has met with an unfortunate accident, which proved fatal.”

The man duly translated, but I noted that Drogo fully understood while keeping a blank face.

“I heard he was killed by a whore,” Drogo told his translator. “An ugly whore at that. Stabbed him in his bath. Do they expect to void our arrangement?”

“Khal Drogo extends his sympathies,” the man said instead. “And hopes that no change needs be made in his pact with you.”

“Not at all,” Illyrio said. “Khal Drogo will marry Princess Daenerys, and uphold her claim to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“And my gold?” Drogo asked in the “Bastard Valyrian” dialect of Pentos.

“All is as it was,” Illyrio said. “Chance has simply removed one difficulty.”

Drogo looked at me and laughed.

“John Carter of Virginia,” he said. “You serve this fat merchant now?”

“I serve no man,” I said.

“This is true,” Illyrio intervened. “John Carter is my guest.”

“Do you still intend to kill me?” the Dothraki asked, still laughing. “And take my place as khal?”

“The sooner the better. Why not now?”

“You have to earn the right to fight me, John Carter.”

“You said I had the right.”

“You defeated a Dothraki, but not one of status.”

“So let me fight one of status, and then I’ll fight you.”

He stroked his beard.

“Acceptable,” he finally said. “A wedding should have a good fight, and at least three deaths. You’ll fight my Andal first. That should be amusing. If you survive, you fight me.”

“This man?”

“Yes. Jorah the Andal, we call him. A knight of Westeros. One of the men who wear iron suits in battle.”

“I have no wish to kill him, only you.”

“You’ll fight under his rules. That means you can yield, and live on in shame. We Dothraki do not yield. When we say to the death, we mean exactly that.”

“Very well. Let me fetch my sword.”

Drogo laughed again.

“You’re eager to die!” he said. “I like that. It will be both a pleasure and a shame to kill you, John Carter of Virginia. But as khal, I must share entertainment with my people. You fight in the morning, at our encampment. No horses, no bows. Sword against arakh. You may wear whatever armor you wish. You’ll fight the Andal before we feast, and if you live, I’ll kill you after we eat. Do not disappoint me.”

He turned his horse and rode out, followed by the Dothraki and the white man I would kill come morning. I decided to force him to yield instead; no man of a superior race should die in the name of an inferior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter fights for his destiny.
> 
> Notes: Tall, blonde Doreah is as described by Martin (rather than the gorgeous, but short and brunette, Roxanne McKee of the TV show).


	8. Chapter Five (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris changes her life.

Chapter Five (Dejah Thoris)

I decided to visit my horses and explore the area around the caves. The area immediately around the hill had been cleared and thoroughly trampled into dust by hundreds of feet over hundreds of days. Around that zone lay a belt of thick forest, rarely entered by most of the people judging by their vague underlying fear of the trees. It did contain a large pen bordered by a fence of wooden rails stacked on one another, and my horses wandered within it along with at least one hundred more. They came toward me as soon as they felt my thoughts, happy to see me.

They nuzzled me and I petted them; the contact made me feel much better. The large female horse, what is known as a “mare,” that had once belonged to Brienne led me to a large, rickety wooden building inside the pen that had a number of living trees incorporated into its structure as supports. Inside were saddles and tack, and after some searching I found the saddle and saddlebags that my horse had worn. All seemed intact.

I found a gate in the ramshackle fence, climbed onto my mare and rode her through the woods for a time without a saddle; I enjoyed the contact with my horse and the feel of her beneath me. We came to an empty, open clearing covered in small green plants with spike-like leaves. She wanted to eat them, so I dismounted and let her graze.

I pulled off my hideous coverings and began my set of exercises. I felt my muscles start to relax as I went through the motions, and my mind began to clear. I continued to move my arms and legs, taking up the poses and renewing my mental and physical energy. The exercises of Helium work their magic on this planet as well as Barsoom.

I then lay on my back among the soft green plants, looking up at the blue sky. I found this bizarre coloring disorienting, and knew I had to become acclimated if I were to function here. It was beautiful, in its own way, but strange all the same.

As I lay contemplating the skies, I felt the thoughts of a panicked animal rapidly approaching. Behind it came the thoughts of three men in pursuit. I rose, but the animal did not consider me a threat; it apparently relied on sense of smell and I did not register as an enemy. It was brown in color with a white underside and it had horns on its head; it had been struck in the flank by an arrow that still protruded from its side.

As it sped across the clearing, I made up my mind. I sprang after it, judging the point where I could intercept it, and tackled it as I drew the blade strapped to my thigh. I slashed it across the throat and pinned the animal to the ground as it died. As I rose, the men approached at a slow trot.

“We don’t want no fight,” the first one said, raising his hands. He recognized me from the previous afternoon’s altercation.

“Equal shares?” one of his friends offered. “A quarter each?”

“If you cook it,” I said. “And I want the skin.”

“Deal,” their leader answered. “We never would’ve caught up to it.” He knelt by the animal and drew his own knife, cutting it along the belly as I watched.

“You hunt like that and never seen a deer field-dressed?” he asked, curious.

“No,” I answered. “I really am a princess.”

“So I see. Well, watch and learn.”

All three men described their actions as they removed the deer’s organs and cut up the meat to be carried. They admired my breasts and my ass with what they thought were discreet glances, but had no thoughts of assaulting me. All of them feared me to some extent, having seen me kill many of their number bare-handed, and I apparently looked fearsome with a knife in my hand and a thick smear of deer’s blood across my chest.

Even so, they enjoyed explaining the task to a woman. As I knew nothing of dressing animals of this planet I gladly listened, all the while understanding that had I been expert in this field, the explanation would have continued regardless.

“Here,” the third man said, holding out a rag. “Keep it.”

I cleaned my knife and sheathed it, and wiped the blood off my skin. The man who had given me the rag noted approvingly that I cleaned my weapon first.

As they finished and rose to their feet, the leader looked at me again.

“So, um, you want to hunt again, you’re welcome any time.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I would like that.”

* * *

I was not sure of the route back to the camp, but my mare knew so I let her pick the path. I enjoyed the ride through the forest, despite the green life covering everything like an infestation. Perhaps I need not be miserable in this place; Gendry showed the will to be my friend, and if the hunters feared me they did not seek to harm me, either.

I put my mare back into the pen and using the tools I found in the shed I brushed her as she wished. Then I pulled on the hideous tunic and leggings. I did not like wearing clothing, but I knew from the reactions of the hunters and the cooking women that I would find a great deal of unnecessary trouble if I went naked like a civilized person.

Judging by the hunters’ words, they should have finished cooking the deer meat by now. I had become hungry again and looked forward to my share. As I walked down the path leading to the caves, I picked up the thoughts of a woman running toward me. She was frightened, and pursued by six other women, all of whom carried sticks. I could not read her thoughts clearly, but I could read theirs: she had mated with a man desired by one of the women, apparently not for the first time. They intended to harm or kill her.

I recognized her as she approached: the tall woman with reddish-brown hair who had stopped the rapist from fleeing on the previous night. I held out my arm to stop her flight. She halted and bent over slightly, panting from the exertion.

“Wait,” I said. “They will not harm you.”

She tried to answer but was breathing too hard to form words. I could only read fear and anger in her thoughts. I stepped forward as the women pursuing her drew closer.

“Stop,” I said. “You will not harm this woman.”

“It’s none of your business,” one of them said, the same woman who had insulted me over a bowl of boiled grain. “That slut fucked my man, for money.”

From her thoughts I understood “fuck” to mean “have sex with,” and to be a word of great power. “Slut” was one of their insults reserved for women who engaged in sex; this language appeared to have many insults reserved for women.

“He paid her willingly?” I asked.

“That’s not the point.”

“You are married to him?”

“That’s not the point, neither.”

“Then perhaps you are simply not attractive to him.”

She was a stout woman and not, to my eyes, very attractive with small eyes, curly hair of indeterminate yellow-brown-gray color, pale skin and a large nose. Part of me knew that I was simply reacting to an innate prejudice against ugly people, women in particular, an unfair one given that I had done nothing to earn my own beauty beyond being hatched out of a royal egg.

“Get out of my way,” she said, intending to push past me. I grabbed the front of her clothing; she wore many layers and I was able to twist a thick knot of them into my hand. I used it to lift her off her feet. She whimpered.

“You will leave my friend alone,” I said. “If you attempt to harm her again, I will kill you and all of your friends. You know that I am capable. And you now know that I do not care if you live or die.”

I tossed her to the ground, where she landed on her back, and put on my best arrogant-princess attitude.

“Do not test my patience,” I said, as I picked up a flicker of thought from the woman behind me and decided to use the phrase. “Scurry back into your holes before I become angry.”

They ran away, leaving their sticks behind, and I turned to meet my new friend. I did not yet know it, but in that moment, my life changed.

“Hello,” I said. “My name is Dejah Thoris.”

I considered my companion. She broadcast none of the hatred or fear of the other women in the camp, but her thoughts were far from open. She was used to guarding her feelings.

“What is your name?”

“They call me Tansy. It’s a small yellow flower that some consider a weed.”

“Unidentified people call you a weed,” I said, still very much a princess. “That is not what I asked. What is your name?”

“Tanith. But please call me Tansy.”

“Tan-See.”

“No, Tansy. Like this. Tansy.”

I suddenly realized that I had been mangling every name I spoke.

“Tansy. I am Dejah to my friends. I hope you will be one of them. None of the other women seem willing to speak with me.”

Despite her closed mind – I could read the meaning behind her words when she spoke, but little more – I liked this woman. She looked familiar in some way. She was almost as tall as I, with very pale white skin and reddish-brown hair that reminded me of my long-dead sister Kajas. She was slender but with well-made shoulders and arms and long legs, yet seemed very graceful. On Barsoom, she would have been a ritual dancer. She was, under the dirt and the bulky, drab clothing, beautiful.

“You just offered to kill six of them,” she said. “That doesn’t usually lead to friendship.”

“I am very hungry,” I said. “I killed an animal known as a deer and some hunters have cooked part of it. Would you share it with me?”

We walked back to the camp together. Tansy said nothing and I could not think of anything to say, either. I tried to read her thoughts but could pick up little. This also meant that her thoughts did not intrude upon mine. I found it much easier to be in her presence than I did other people of this planet.

I located the hunters by telepathy; they had already roasted the deer and shared out their portions, but had placed my share on a large wooden platter under a white cloth to keep the insects away. They had skinned the deer and prepared its hide; one of the men showed me where it had been stretched on a rack to dry.

“You’ll want some bread and wine with it,” their leader said, eyeing my new friend Tansy. He apparently had mated with her at some point or had wished to; his thoughts were not clear but at least he made no crude comments. He handed me a skin bag and a large loaf of freshly-baked bread. It was very roughly made, with bits of leftover plant sticking out of it and burned places on the bottom, but I appreciated the gesture.

“Take these,” he said. “I hope we’ll see you again.”

I understood from his thoughts that they found it difficult to bring down a deer with their arrows, which apparently did not have a great deal of range or striking power. I thanked him and turned to Tansy.

“Is there a place where we can eat this?”

“Up there,” she pointed to the top of the hill. We climbed and found a large flat rock on the summit, with no one else present. I laid down the platter and pulled off the cloth; the meat smelled wonderful. I sat cross-legged next to the food and beckoned to Tansy to join me. She tentatively sat as well.

I sliced some meat and placed it on her side of the platter, then cut some for myself. I liked the sharp taste and the rich fat within the meat.

“Thank you for joining me,” I said. “I have felt very . . . alone here.”

“You did kill their leader,” she said. “That made you a few friends and many enemies.”

“I could not let her kill those people,” I said. “But I failed. She killed them anyway.”

“Is it true that you killed Lemoncloak and Greenbeard?”

Now I knew why she seemed familiar. This was the woman who had occupied the yellow man’s last thoughts. He remembered her somewhat differently than the reality, with better teeth and fewer blemishes on her skin, fleshier with even larger breasts and bright green eyes rather than the large, deep blue ones that now regarded me carefully. But this was the same woman. My answer could well end our brief friendship.

“Yes.”

“They were very experienced fighters.”

A non-committal response, probing for a fuller answer.

“So am I.”

“And you seek out new enemies to fight?”

Her thoughts gave no advice. I simply told the truth.

“No. I do not like to fight, or to kill. Not unless they wish to kill me,” I hesitated, then added, “Or rape me.”

“I thought so. I’m glad you killed them.”

“You knew them?”

“They were customers of mine.”

The word “customers” took some halting explaining. Tansy had been a “whore,” a woman paid to mate – “to have sex” was their phrase – with a few women and many men, including the three I’d met on the road. Tansy did not enjoy it. They apparently did. I decided not to tell her how much the yellow man had enjoyed her.

“Do you still,” she asked, “wish me to be your friend?”

I knew the answer, and it surprised me. While illicit sex does not carry the same stigma on Barsoom that it apparently did with these people - sex and procreation are separate biological functions for us – we have those who sell their bodies for pleasure, and it does carry a great social stain. Curiously, I found that I did not care.

“I am a princess in my own land,” I said, “with a deeply ancient family history. A few days ago I would have instantly said no. I might have even struck you for daring to speak to me.”

“And now?”

“And now I very much want to be your friend, and for you to be mine.”

“Even if I’m still a whore?”

“Are you?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “I have to eat. Even here, I have nothing else with which to pay for my keep.”

“Do you wish to be a whore?”

“By all seven hells, no.”

“Then you will stay with me,” I said, “and will no longer be a whore. I have money, gold and jewels.”

“You took it from the men you killed?”

“They had no need of it. And now it will bring us what we need.”

“What if we run out of gold?”

“Then I will kill some more bad men,” I said. “There seems to be no shortage of them.”

We had finished our food, though I had eaten most of it. We remained on the rock to drink some of the wine, but kept the bread and the rest of the wine for Evening Meal.

“Can you help me find some things?” I asked. “I wish to set this clothing on fire.”

“Of course. You haven’t tried?”

“Yes. No. Not really.”

“Are you _shy_?” she asked, somewhat amused.

“Perhaps. I am a princess. I am not used to . . .” I struggled for the proper words, and to not offend.

“Dealing with common folk?”

“Yes. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. We can’t help what we are.”

I appreciated that she wished me to feel better, but still I indulged in self-pity.

“The women here despise me,” I said. “The men fear me.”

“They respect you.”

“Killing a large number of them will do that.”

“You’re making a joke, are you not?”

“I think so.”

“They’ll talk to the gold. What is it you need?”

“Some furs for sleeping,” I said. “A leather harness to wear for battle.”

“You’re expecting to fight battles?”

“There are always battles. And if I must wear something that covers my breasts and loins, can it be less scratchy and ugly?”

“You must,” she said. “Well, you don’t have to, but you’re going to have to kill more people if you don’t.”

“It is not my fault.”

“No, it’s not. But you’re a woman. So it is.”

She paused, drank some wine and looked into my eyes.

“You’re from very far away, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Everything here is strange to me.”

“I feel that way sometimes, and I grew up here.”

“Do you have needs?”

“Food. A warm place to sleep. A friend.”

“I know where to find those things.” 

* * *

With Tansy’s help, we secured enough furs to fill the bed frame inside my, now our, small chamber. That created a sleeping platform similar to those of Barsoom. We dragged the sack of dead plants, what she called a “mattress,” outside and left it for whoever wished to claim it.

She traded the skin of the deer I had slain to a woman who worked with leather and promised to make me a fighting harness. I drew the harness for the woman, but Tansy added a short skirt and panels along the sides to cover more of my flesh. I promised to bring nine more deer skins to complete the trade.

From another woman who dealt in clothing she purchased a pair of loose-fitting garments she called a “dress,” one for each of us, and a set of riding leggings for each of us as well. I threw the archer’s leggings and the serving woman’s hideous tunic into a fire as I had promised. A man sold us what Tansy said was a soldier’s tunic, that fell to my knees and had an emblem of an animal known as a wolf, and another man sold us open-topped shoes she called “sandals.”

“You are experienced in many things,” I observed.

“You mean besides fucking?” she said, but she smiled to show that she was not offended. “When you run a brothel, you have to see to everything. You’re still a whore, but also banker, manager, cook, guard, maid, spiritual advisor. But mostly, I can read people. You have to in my business, to survive. If you can’t see ahead of time who’s going to be violent or dangerous, people get hurt.”

“You do not mind speaking of it?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “You don’t seem to judge me so I don’t mind talking to you.”

“I am very judgmental. That is what a princess does. But I like you.”

The words surprised me, even though they came from my mouth. But they were true.

“And I you. Today is a good day.”

Tansy also found a cleaning device known as a “broom,” and we swept the chamber clean including the walls and ceiling. We found more candles, a basin and pitcher for water, and I retrieved the handful of items formerly belonging to Brienne from my saddlebags.

“Do you need help to gather your things?” I asked Tansy.

“You’re looking at them all,” she said, raising her arms and turning in a circle. “Just the clothes on my back.”

I could not easily read her thoughts to find out what deeper meaning lay behind those words, and this was one reason that I liked her. She had a disciplined mind, and I was not assailed by random thoughts when in her presence.

We finished just as darkness fell, and I looked forward to sleeping in actual furs. I pulled the dress over my head and sat on the edge of the bed frame. Tansy remained standing and looked at me.

“Are you expecting me to . . . you know?”

“I do not know,” I said. “Expecting what?”

“Sex.”

“You are my friend, not my lover. If we do become lovers it will have nothing to do with payment.”

“I think I knew that,” she said. “I’m just used to everything being an exchange. I haven’t had many friends.”

“I have,” I said. “You do things for them because you want them to be happy or have their needs filled, not because you expect something in return.”

“That will take some getting used to. I saw the one bed and just assumed.”

“Friends in my land, particularly women, often share a bed.”

“They do here as well,” Tansy said, “at least in the upper classes.”

“Then we shall be of the upper class.”

“All right.”

She pulled off her own dress. She was, as I had suspected, beautiful underneath it despite some soft flesh about her lower abdomen.

“Finest tits in Westeros,” she said, smiling as she touched her large, full breasts. I had not yet seen any women of this planet unclothed other than Brienne’s corpse. Tansy’s breasts had perfectly round pinkish-brown areolas, and other than the odd coloring they looked very much like those of a royal woman of Barsoom – one bred for beauty. She glanced at mine. “At least they were.”

She sat next to me.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything. I was close to the edge.”

“The edge?”

“The edge of living, or seeing a point in living.”

“I also needed a friend. I had become very lonely.”

She lay down. I did as well.

“You’re really warm,” she said. “Are you ill?”

“No, this is my natural temperature.”

“Really? I could learn to like this.”

She rolled over and mumbled before falling hard asleep.

“Tomorrow you’ll tell me why you’re here.” 

* * *

Morning came, and with it the hunt for food. Tansy proved much less shy than I, marching up to the women cooking boiled grain and demanding two bowls for us, including pieces of fruit tossed into the grain. She stood over them while they prepared it, and did not pay them. They hurled many insults at her in their thoughts, but said nothing aloud while keeping a frightened watch on me.

“I had to make sure they didn’t spit in it,” she said, handing me a bowl. “Let’s go back to our rock.”

Once again we had the flat rock to ourselves, underneath a clear blue sky with a few puffy white clouds. We have clouds on Barsoom, but they are far less beautiful than these. Rocks covered the top of the hill, with some scraggly plants jutting out from between them but no large trees. One could see the area around the hill, but the view from there did not extend above the tops of the large trees in the forest.

“So, why are you here?”

“To find my husband, John Carter.”

I told her the same story I had given Thoros, Ned and Gendry.

“You’re really a princess?”

“Yes, really. My city is called Helium. It is in Sothoryos. The land is very different from here.”

“No doubt. Do you love John Carter?”

“Why do you ask?”

“That’s more of an answer than ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“I once loved John Carter. I do not know if I truly wish to restore that love. I am sure that he no longer loves me.”

“Ah. So he left you.”

“That is likely. He has many enemies and could have been taken against his will. But I believe that he went freely.”

“So why do you wish to find him?”

I hesitated, and decided to trust my new friend with the truth.

“He is a skilled military commander. My grandfather, the king of our city, depends on him to lead our fleets and armies. My grandfather fears that our rivals will attack once they know that John Carter will never return. He blames me for John Carter’s departure.”

“Is he right?”

“Possibly,” I allowed. “Sex between us was not satisfying. And perhaps I was dismissive of his foreign ways and lack of learning.”

“And so you take the blame.”

“It was my duty to keep John Carter loyal to Helium. I failed. So I have come here to find him.”

“To redeem yourself in front of your grandfather?”

“Yes, exactly so. First, I must learn more of these lands and become used to my sword and my horses. But I hope to leave soon.”

We had finished our grain and fruit. Tansy stood and looked down over the side of the hill.

“The practice yard is down there,” she said, pointing to an area where a number of men stood about. “Maybe you should beat up a few of them to get ready to see your husband.”

“I will, but first I want to exercise. Will you come?”

“Of course.”

* * *

We walked to the horse pen, where I saddled one of my horses so Tansy could ride him, and mounted my mare bareback.

“Can you ride?” I thought to ask. I realized she did not have my enhanced strength, and held my hands down to assist her.

“No problem.” She put her foot in my cupped hands and mounted gracefully. My mare led the way to the clearing we’d found on the previous day. I enjoyed riding with Tansy, who looked very comfortable in the saddle.

“I should have put on those pants we bought,” she said. “Dresses weren’t meant for riding.”

“How do women ride then?”

“The smart ones wear pants. The others ride like this.”

She twisted around to put both legs on the same side of the saddle. It looked terribly uncomfortable, and I said so.

“It is. I need to wear pants.”

“I will kill some more deer,” I said, “and we will ask the leather woman to make you some strong riding leggings.”

We reached the clearing, again finding it empty of people. I took a few moments to regard the plants, which Tansy said were called “grass,” and the trees. This planet was really lovely, once one got used to all of the blue and green and brown. Even so, I missed the sight of red rocks and red plants.

Then I showed her the forms of our exercises. We move slowly through them at first when we perform them on Barsoom, so teaching them is fairly simple. She caught on quickly.

“This is very relaxing.”

“It is meant to clear the mind, as well as strengthen the body.”

“So this is what made you strong?”

“Among other things. I was bred for intelligence, size, speed, strength and beauty.”

That was only partially true; I was bred for those qualities as are all royals. That only accounted for some of my strength and speed.

“Did you kill the deer with your bare hands?”

“With my knife.”

“You jumped on it and stabbed it?”

“Yes. I cut it across the throat. It had already been shot with an arrow.”

“You promised to deliver nine more deerskins for your battle-dress thing.”

“I will have to hunt them. They cannot smell me.”

“But they can smell me.”

“Yes.”

“So I need to stay away.”

“I will hunt them early in the morning. It is no trouble.” 

* * *

We rode back to the caves and returned the horses to the pen. Tansy showed me more of proper horse care: the importance of cooling down after exercise, of brushing, of picking small rocks out of their hooves. The horses had mentioned none of this; they did not like having their hooves cleaned and I realized that horses lie.

I found brushing the horses very relaxing, and I picked up from their thoughts that their prior masters had done little to care for them. I greatly enjoyed riding, and now understood John Carter’s love for horses.

Having finished with horse care we next visited Gendry, to see if he had finished with my sword.

“This is my friend, Tansy,” I said as he looked up from his work.

“Hello,” he nodded to her. “We’ve met,” he said to me.

I realized that this embarrassed him.

“I am sorry.”

“No,” he said. “It’s fine. It was, um . . .”

“She knows,” Tansy said, and looked at me. “Some men brought Gendry to me for his first time.”

“With you?” I asked.

“You _are_ blunt,” she said, but smiled. “No, with one of my girls.”

I did not understand.

“The girls who worked for me.”

I understood.

“I ran away first,” Gendry said. “It was a shameful moment.”

“Her loss,” Tansy said. “I’m sorry I laughed at you.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’ve gotten over it. And I have something for the princess.”

He fetched the sword from behind his forge and laid it on his work table; he had wrapped it in a soft, cured animal skin. He unrolled the wrappings to reveal a beautiful sword. The crossbar was dark gray steel, the grip wrapped in dark leather with a reddish orb at the pommel. I picked it up and tested its balance; it remained perfect. I stepped outside the work area and performed a few two-handed evolutions at slow speed; the new, longer grip was perfect.

“Thank you. This is wonderful. I have gold.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I enjoyed working with a real Valyrian blade. And I have more.”

He walked behind his forge and returned with a scabbard and belt. They matched the dark leather of the grip.

“I had to guess your height, but I think I got it right.”

I put the sword in its scabbard and slipped the belt over my shoulder; it fit perfectly, the grip jutting up exactly where I wanted it.

“And don’t forget this,” he said, handing me a small cloth bag. I hefted it; it rattled heavily.

“The gold and jewels I took off the sword and scabbard. Worth a good bit I’d guess.”

“This should feed us,” I told Tansy, “for a long time.”

“You’re paying for food?” Gendry asked. “I’m sorry. We did nothing to settle you here after tossing you in a cave. There’s no organization with Lady Stone Heart dead. Permanently dead. Whatever you call it.”

“I bought some boiled grain. I killed a deer and some hunters cooked it for us. Tansy made the women give us more boiled grain with fruit and told them that I would kill them and all of their friends if they did not.”

“Would you have?”

“Possibly.”

“Please don’t,” Gendry said. “Let me bank the forge and we’ll go see Ned and make sure you’re fed and clothed. You’re our guest and should be sharing what we have like a guest.”

“My friend Tansy shares whatever I share.”

“I’ve no problem with that. Let me get to work.”

Gendry took a small tool with a broad, flat head known as a “shovel” and began to cover the glowing coals in the forge with a layer of ash. Tansy took my hand in two of her fingers and pulled me further from the forge.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“You are my friend,” I said, equally quietly. “I need someone in this world who I can trust.”

“So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris learns about her new friend.


	9. Chapter Six (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris learns the power of play.

Chapter Six (Dejah Thoris)

When Gendry finished banking the forge, we followed him to a flat, dirt-covered area outside the caves he called the practice yard, the same spot Tansy had pointed out from the hilltop. I had hoped to learn more about the fighting styles of this planet, and looked forward to joining in the sword practice.

We found Ned Dayne on the edge of the fighting area, having just finished a round of sword-play. Gendry called him over to join us on a bench made of dead trees.

“Princess,” he greeted me with a bow. “I don’t think I know your friend.”

“Her name is Tansy,” I said. “She is named for a weed. She is my best friend.”

“I’m your only friend,” she whispered, too softly for the others to hear.

The Lord of the Fallen Star actually took her hand and kissed it. The courtesy pleased me.

“How can I help you?”

“We neglected to do anything for the princess beyond a sleeping chamber,” Gendry said. “Food, clothing. Anything. That’s not how a guest should be welcomed.”

“No, it’s not,” Ned agreed. “What we have is yours.”

“And Tansy as well.”

“Of course,” he said. “How long do you plan to stay with us?

“I would like to stay a few more days and become used to this land’s ways,” I said. “Then I must be off to find my husband.”

“You’re certainly welcome for as long as you wish,” Ned said. “Things are really disorganized following Lady Stone Heart’s death, not that she put effort into anything beyond murder.”

“I would like to practice with swords.”

“Of course,” he repeated. “Pick up a practice blade and have at it.”

“I will watch first.”

Ned returned to the yard, facing a large, shirtless man with a large, two-handed sword. Gendry picked up a weapon called a war hammer, though this one had wooden caps on it to limit the damage it caused, and faced another large man, this one wearing a heavily-padded tunic. Their practice consisted of bashing each other with swords that had no edge until one or both of them dropped from exhaustion or repeated blows. Ned had been “castle trained,” as he called it, and used a very formal style. It would see him killed someday; I could anticipate his moves even without reading his mind. Gendry tried to use his greater strength to simply overwhelm his opponent.

After watching, I took up an edgeless sword and joined them. Ned called a smaller man to face me. He was very young and obviously inexperienced. He also wore no shirt or tunic, so I pulled off my new soldier’s tunic to match his bare chest. He cringed.

“Watch the sword, not the tits,” a man sitting on a nearby rock called. “Look at that stance. She knows her business.”

The young man finally lunged wildly; I stepped aside and let him fall to the ground on his own, kicked the sword out of his hand, and placed the tip of mine at his throat.

“I have killed you,” I said. “Send another.”

The man sitting on the rock got up, pulled off his tunic and picked up a practice sword.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said.

I took up the standard opening stance, and awaited his attack. He lunged directly for the center of my chest; I hooked his blade and disarmed him, then tapped him on the center of his chest.

“Dead. Send another.”

“No one is that fast.”

“Send another.”

The large man who had sparred with Ned held up his hand to the Lord of the Fallen Star, and walked across to face me. He was an attractive man, with a muscled chest and shoulders and long, shaggy brown hair. He wished to engage in sex with me; I would not have minded but I knew from my sad sexual history with John Carter that we could not fit together and he would only leave my bed disappointed. My opponent raised his sword and nodded without a word. I fended off several strikes, and when he reached for a broad one-handed swing I spun inside his guard and laid the edge of my blade alongside his neck.

“I have killed you,” I whispered into his ear.

He looked down at my bare breasts pressed against his bare chest.

“It was worth it,” he whispered back. I felt him grow aroused and I spun away.

“She’s too fast for me,” he said in a louder, but strained voice. His discomfort pleased me, though it should not have. “Two against one.”

He gestured to the large man who had fought Gendry, who pulled off his padded tunic to join him. They spread out and tried to attack from two sides; I blocked the man on my left and then attacked the man on the right, beating down his guard and turning back to tap the chest of the man on the left when he thought me distracted. He fell over with a loud, pretended groan of pain while I returned my attention to his comrade, parrying his attack and counter-thrusting to tap him as well. He also fell over, groaning.

I stuck the practice sword in the dirt and held out my hands; they took them and pulled themselves up, each slapping me gently on the shoulder.

“You’ll teach me that,” the attractive man said, not intending it as a question. “I’m Crodell. Been soldiering a long time, never seen anything like you.”

“Natural speed,” his friend said. “Don’t think that can be taught. But there’s a lot of technique there, too.”

“Watch my shoulders, not my breasts,” I said. “Every kill I have made has been in reaction to an attack, not one I initiated.”

They both nodded.

I sparred with a few more pairs, defeating them easily, and also beat three men at once. I believe that I could have done so even without telepathy and my enhanced speed. I tried not to show off, but I did not want to hold back either. I thanked them all for the exercise, put my tunic back on and sat down between Tansy and Ned, with Gendry on the other side of his friend.

“You made that look easy,” Tansy said.

“I am very quick,” I said, “and have had a great deal of training.”

“Do you wear armor when you fight for real?” Gendry asked. “I could make some to fit you, but it would take some time.”

“No, we fight without any clothing at all,” I said. “I kept the leggings for the sake of modesty.”

“That was indeed,” Tansy said, “very modest of you.”

“Thank you,” I said. It took a few more moments before I realized that she intended an ironic jest.

“I do prefer armor on my wrists, like so,” I told Gendry, indicating my forearms. “I do not know its name in your language.”

“Gauntlets,” Gendry said. “I’ll make you a set.”

“We wear heavy armor in battle,” Ned said, “with padding underneath it. Touching an opponent scores points on the practice yard, but it’s not going to harm an enemy in a real battle. To split their armor or inflict an injury by blunt force, the blow has to be very hard. And so we sacrifice style for power.”

“You still would have beaten everyone here,” Gendry added. “Just maybe not as easily.”

Ned nodded agreement.

“Do all women learn to fight in your land?” he asked.

“They do among the nobility,” I said. “Fewer women become soldiers than do men, but it remains a fair number. They are more common in ships’ crews. Is this not true here as well?”

“No,” Ned said. “There are warrior women in the North, but you are only the second such that I have met.”

“The first was Brienne?”

“Yes.”

“I am not truly a warrior,” I said. “A princess must learn to fight and help lead her nation’s armies in war. It is expected. We have privileges, and we earn these on the battlefield, sometimes by our death.”

“That’s true among us as well, only not for princesses.”

“If women do not learn to fight,” I asked, “what happens when they are threatened?”

“A knight must protect the defenseless, including women,” the Lord of the Fallen Star explained. Tansy made a snorting sound; I looked at her and she rolled her eyes, a gesture we share on Barsoom. I smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Why do I only see women doing the menial tasks here?” I continued. “They cook, they wash, they serve food.”

“That’s a woman’s place.”

“To do the hard work while you play with swords.”

“But a woman can’t wield a sword.”

“Truly?” I spun the blunt point of the practice sword on my finger tip, a trick John Carter had taught me that neither youth could master. I tossed the sword upward and caught it before it could fall; sword-spinning was much more difficult in this planet’s gravity. “Has any sword touched me yet?”

“You’re not like other women.”

“This is true,” I allowed. “So, the man plays with swords and the woman works. This does not seem right or fair.”

“Among the nobles the men fight and the women do not work,” Ned answered. “Among the other classes everyone works. Someone has to do the work. And women must be protected.”

John Carter had felt this way as well. He always feared for me when I fought, or more likely he feared the shame of having failed to protect me should I be injured or killed. More than once I had stood back so as not to distract him during battle. Once he even asked that I sing inspirational songs while he fought, but even a princess has limits to the public humiliation she will endure. And no one has ever asked Dejah Thoris to sing a second time.

“And who,” Tansy asked, “protects women from their protectors?”

“It’s . . .” Ned started, then stopped. “I don’t know. Real life hasn’t turned out to be the way I was taught it should be.”

“You!” I called to one of the practicing fighters. “Brace the blade with your off hand or he will smash it back into your chest. That is why it has no edge near the cross-guard.” He nodded and acted out the motion. I nodded in turn and he continued, now using both hands. They did not yet fully respect me, but none now questioned my skill with a sword.

“Why,” I asked Ned and Gendry, “are noble women so precious?”

I had wondered about this long before I came to their planet; I would not claim that women are fully equal in my society but John Carter at times acted as though I were made of the delicate glassine crystals from which our artists craft intricate shapes. And while I would not have said that I was good at killing people on Barsoom, I had survived in a very violent culture. And I had killed many people, in the name of Helium.

“They bear the burden of childbirth,” Ned said, “and the raising of children. ‘A woman’s battle is in the birthing bed,’ they say.”

“Do not working women do so also?”

“Yes, but that’s different.”

“Because they’re noble,” Tansy said. “Working families need more workers, but noble families need an heir.”

“That’s true,” Ned said. “That’s the prime duty of young married nobles. ‘An heir and a spare,’ they say.”

“Who are ‘they’?” I asked.

“Not really people,” Gendry said. “Just the . . . the things everyone knows, or thinks they know.”

“And these rules that are not written control how and when you have sex?”

Neither young man answered. Probing their minds, I found that they thought a great deal about sex, but knew practically nothing about childbirth. I would have to ask Tansy.

“Have you had sex with a woman?”

Both young men turned very red. Tansy burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t do that.”

“No, um, no,” Ned spluttered. “A true knight waits for marriage.”

“You would like to?”

“Which?”

“Either.”

“I will wait to, uh, lay with a woman,” Ned said. “But I would like to marry.”

But not as much as he would like to experience sex. He thought of what I believed was a rather young girl, with dark hair and gray eyes. She swung a narrow-bladed sword.

“You love a woman?”

“I think so,” he said. “A girl, anyway. Her father knew my aunt and I think he loved her, but he killed my uncle. So I don’t know how my family would feel. And the war has destroyed their house.”

“And you, Gendry?” Tansy asked.

“Ned will have his marriage arranged by his family because he’s a lord. I have more choice, but some girls are forbidden to me even as a knight.”

“You are a knight?” This surprised me; from what I had gleaned of Ned’s thoughts and words I had concluded that knights were nobles, not blacksmiths.

“Yes, Lord Beric knighted me. But I was born a bastard so the knighthood doesn’t erase all of that.”

“Who were your parents?”

He started, and I realized I had offended him.

“She does that,” Tansy interjected. “You saw it this morning. There’s no filter on our princess.”

“I am sorry,” I said. “I do not wish to offend.”

“It’s alright,” Gendry said, not really meaning it. “It’s just not something people ask.”

“Polite people, anyway,” Tansy added, but she smiled and rubbed my back to show that she was being playful, then looked at Gendry and leaned across me to put her hand on his brawny forearm. “Don’t be upset. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

He nodded, partially mollified.

“I don’t really know who my parents were,” Gendry said; his thoughts said he lied. “I grew up in Flea Bottom, in King’s Landing. My mother was a tavern wench, my father a customer I suppose.”

He suspected that his father had been King Robert but had no proof.

“Gendry,” Tansy said softly. “If I can see your father in you, anyone who knew him can.”

“How did you know him?” I asked her, catching myself before I said “the king” aloud.

“He was my customer, too.”

Ned worked to cover his surprise; he had suspected that Tansy had been a whore but did not expect her to say this aloud.

“Are you Gendry’s mother?” I asked her.

“No,” she said, startled by the question; I had forgotten that these people remained children far longer than we of Barsoom, making Tansy too young to have birthed Gendry. “But I would be very proud if I were.”

“My own wasn’t,” Gendry said. “I never really knew her, either. I remember a woman with yellow hair who I’ve always thought of as my mother. She probably worked in the palace, at least people from the palace paid my master to take me on as an apprentice and came to check on me.”

“But you are a knight now,” I said, “yet you cannot marry who you choose?”

“Not having a family isn’t all bad,” he said. “I don’t mean as a child; that was really bad. But now, no one will try to make a marriage alliance using me as a game piece. I do get some choice, but it’s limited.”

“And you have made a choice?”

“Yes, but she’s forbidden to me.”

He pictured a very similar girl to that dreamed of by Ned. Perhaps the same one? It seemed that no one on this planet ever found love with the one they desired. Nor, I recalled, had I managed to do so on Barsoom.

“I hope that can happen for you,” I said. “I married one who was forbidden to me.”

“How did that come about?” Tansy asked.

“He fought for me and won the right. In our lands that carries a great deal of . . .”

“Weight?”

“Yes, weight. Not as much weight as I told him it did, but I did not wish for him to stop pursuing my hand. He had no status but was a great fighter and skilled in the command of armies and fleets. Now he leads the combined forces of my city and our allies. Men and women gladly follow him, and die for him. It also helped that my grandfather loves me and wanted my happiness.”

“Did he make you happy?” Tansy asked, already knowing the answer.

“No,” I said. “It does not always make you happy, to get what you want.”

All three of my companions nodded.

“Families here,” Gendry said, “almost always choose to place the game of thrones above their children’s happiness. Noble families, that is. The others just suffer for it.”

“What is the game of thrones?”

Gendry looked to Ned.

“Noble houses seek status, and an opportunity to gain greater status than their neighbors and rivals. They do so through marriage or through obtaining offices.”

“Do they seek to rule?”

“Sometimes,” Ned said. “There’s only been one successful rebellion in the past three hundred years, and that was not long ago, just a few years before my birth. Mostly they struggle for position beneath the king, not for the chance to replace him.”

“This happens in our land as well,” I said. “But it rarely causes as much death and destruction as I have heard of here. Perhaps some nobles die, but not working people in huge numbers.”

“That’s how it was here too, or so I’m told. I think the tension built up for a very long time, and when it was released, the world just caught fire.”

* * *

Over the next several days I fell into a routine, hunting in the early morning to redeem my promise of deer skins, exercising with Tansy in the clearing before bathing in a nearby stream, and riding horses together through the forest. Tansy took to the exercises readily, and taught me a trick she called “cartwheels.” She raised her hands into the air, relaxed and fell to one side, hitting the ground with her hands and vaulting on in a circular motion like the wheel of a cart.

“This looks so easy,” I said after the fourth time I had fallen into a heap. “Yet it is not.”

“You have to relax,” Tansy said, moving behind me and putting her hands on my waist. I loved her touch on my bare skin, but dared not reveal this aloud. “Just fall. Relax and fall to the side. Your hands will catch you.”

I needed many attempts before I could cartwheel; usually I bent my legs and fell into a tangle. Finally, I managed to hit the ground and vault on. It felt as though I had accomplished a great feat.

“Did you never play?” Tansy asked. “As a girl?”

“I was never a girl,” I said. “I was a princess.”

“I wished to be a princess,” Tansy said. “When I was a girl.”

“Had I known you when I was a princess,” I said, “I would have wished to be a girl.”

Tansy could also stand on her hands, a feat that turned out to be far more difficult in this planet’s heavier gravity than I had anticipated. Once again, I needed many attempts before I could likewise do so, but I knew that I still lacked Tansy’s grace. She moved fluidly, as though she danced, even in the most mundane actions.

My new friend, my only friend, had been through painful ordeals that she hesitated to share, yet she remained playful. We of Barsoom know the importance of play to maintaining one’s emotional balance. John Carter scorned that facet of our society and it called “childish,” what he considered a terrible insult. As a princess, I had never been particular good at play, and I resolved that I would allow Tansy to teach me.

I did have other skills that translated more easily to this world. The hunters gave me several javelins that they called throwing spears. I sought deer telepathically, climbed a tree to wait for them to pass underneath, and killed them with a javelin thrown from above. So many farms had been abandoned that the deer population had expanded exponentially, and I soon had enough skins to pay for my fighting harness as well as boots and a similar outfit for Tansy. And a great deal of meat. The hunters were pleased.

I also experienced rain: water that fell from the sky. We have rain on Barsoom, but it is exceedingly rare in the region around Helium, where all water has long been carefully conserved and directed for use in agriculture and for personal consumption. We control our weather as we do the atmosphere, and simply allowing water to drip from the clouds is considered highly wasteful. I had seen rain over the vast Toolian Marshes, but never at my own city, and I had never directly experienced its fall.

Here, no one considered it a miracle; it was simply an annoyance to be avoided. People huddled in the caves or in makeshift shelters under the trees. I stood under the falling rain and spread my arms, feeling the droplets smack into my flesh – in this heavier gravity they hit with some force, though not enough to be painful. I pulled off my tunic to better feel the rain, and eventually climbed to the top of the hill to sprawl on my back atop our flat rock while the drops of rain played across my body.

I had never felt anything like this and loved the sensation on my skin. It was a cold rain, but I did not care. Tansy found me there as the rain subsided, amused at my love of rain but concerned that I would make myself ill. She could not explain why cold water falling on my skin would sicken me, but I put my tunic back on and went inside the caves to ease her concern. 

* * *

I also visited the practice yard every afternoon. I showed the fighters some of the techniques of Barsoom, and they taught me theirs. Over the days that followed more fighters from the camp came to watch, and some challenged me with their dull swords. I defeated them easily, though it disturbed me that I inflicted a number of broken bones and other injuries. To make things more interesting, and reduce the chance of an accidental death among my sparring partners, I began to fight them in larger groups. I became much more at ease with the sword, though I declined their offers to learn to use the heavy lance with which they fought from horseback or to fight with sword and shield.

I suspected that my reactions had become much faster than on Barsoom, and I asked a number of the men to throw stones at me while I batted them away. I became very adept at this game. I also had the fighters loose blunted arrows at me, and found that I could knock most of them away with a practice sword. Most, but not all. I found that my enhanced abilities did not include a resistance to pain. I would need to avoid arrows.

Many of the men admired my body in their thoughts, but their words generally remained respectful. A few went to private places around the caves and thought about me, or about Tansy and I together, while they stroked their sex organ; since they did not do this around others I came to understand that this was a private act and considered somewhat shameful. I did not wish to intrude, even in the silence of telepathy, yet I remained intensely curious about their sexual practices and learned a great deal. The men often fantasized of placing their sex organs within women, while the women only sometimes fantasized of receiving them. I began to understand that John Carter would never have been able to find sexual satisfaction with me, for I could not receive his sex organ.

Some of the people went to one knee when I approached, a gesture which I found very strange. I let them know that this made me uncomfortable, that a simple nod and greeting would suffice. They usually called me “my princess,” which made me smile – I had once told John Carter that this was a term reserved only for lovers among my people. Since I actually was a princess, the people of Helium had called me that many times every day. If he had ever noticed, he said nothing.

As the men came to respect – and fear – my fighting skills, it became safer for Tansy to walk among them alone. I did not openly threaten anyone, but most understood that I would kill anyone who attempted to harm her. Many of the women and some of the men continued to despise both of us, but no longer dared give voice to their hatred.

Thoros the priest came to the horse pens and rode with me one day in place of Tansy, who did not feel well, calling it a period of the moon. Thoros wanted to talk about his prophecy, and I tried to divert him by asking about his homeland.

“You are from the Eastern Continent?”

“Yes, a city called Myr. I was given to the priesthood as a boy, and eventually sent here to convert the former ruler and the rest of the heathens. I stayed on with the next ruler, whoring, drinking and fighting by his side. And then I ended up here.”

“You convert people to your religion by whoring, drinking and fighting? It must be very popular.”

“No,” he said. “I wasn’t a very good priest. That’s why I was sent away.”

“What is it like there?”

“Essos, as we call the Eastern Continent? Much drier than here. There is desert in the interior and huge stretches of dry grassland. There are sophisticated cities along the coastline, with a much higher level of civilization than this continent, Westeros.”

“Who lives in the interior?”

“Barbarians. They ride horses in huge hordes, fighting one another and sometimes attacking civilized folk. They decide all questions by single combat.”

This sounded very much like the Tharks of Barsoom.

“Are they green-skinned? With tusks?”

“What? No. They have skins of a light brown color but otherwise look like any other men. There are large men with tusks as well as long arms and flat noses on the Southern Continent, but I suppose you know that.”

He doubted my origin story, but not enough to say so out loud. He only cared for my destiny; I really could have come from another planet and he would have only seen that as further proof of his prophecy.

“I had rarely traveled before my arrival here.”

“It is said to be a wild place, Sothoryos, with all manner of deadly creatures from killer fish up to giant apes many times the size of a man.”

“Truly?” I asked. “Giant apes many times the size of a man. Are they white-skinned?”

“That I don’t know. You’ve never heard of them?”

“Oh yes. All of these creatures sound very familiar to one from my land.”

Extremely familiar, as though someone had created this world from a book about Barsoom. We rode on for some time before I resumed my queries.

“You lived in the capital before your exile here?”

“Yes,” Thoros said. “I was boon companion to the king. And then he died, and here I am.”

“It is a great city?”

“Massive. Half a million souls, possibly more. The greatest on this continent. At least a half dozen cities of Essos are greater in size.”

That half-million would make a respectable but small city on Barsoom, far smaller than Helium or even Lesser Helium.

“Is it a center of learning?”

“Not much,” the priest said. “The real center of learning is Oldtown, on the western coast.”

“Oldtown is the oldest town here?”

“Of course.”

“What learning goes on there?”

“It’s home to the Citadel,” Thoros said, “where the maesters train their novices and study all manner of, well, study. The natural world, magic, history, medical arts. Everything.”

“Where else are these things studied?”

“Nowhere,” he said. “At least not in Westeros. There are some scholarly orders in Essos, also.”

“Who can become a maester?”

“Men only,” he said. “They select applicants very carefully, then train them for years. They take vows including celibacy, and their loyalty is only to the Order. Most noble houses have a maester that serves them.”

“But the maester serves his Order first.”

“Just so.”

Curious. So science, or what passed for science, was held as a monopoly by a tiny insular order, following its own agenda, and with influential agents at the elbow of every significant political leader and many insignificant ones as well. Was this Citadel the seat of true power in Westeros? And what was its agenda? I was reminded of the Therns of my home planet.

“Your order also allows only men?”

“No,” he said. “It’s probably evenly divided between priests and priestesses.”

“Celibacy is the lack of sex? It applies to you as well?”

“I told you, I whored with King Robert. I broke several vows to do that, degrading others by paying them to service me, bringing disrepute to our faith, but the act itself isn’t forbidden if it’s done out of love.”

“There many priests and priestesses in Westeros?”

“Few, he said, and stopped his horse to emphasize his words. “Those you’ll meet in Westeros are far more dedicated than I, even fanatic. If they see what I’ve seen, regarding you, they won’t all rely on gentle persuasion.”

This also reminded me of the Therns, though from Thoros’ thoughts he feared that his fellows would try to force me to carry out their prophecy or even sacrifice me to do so. At least, unlike the Therns, they would not attempt to eat me. Other distinct echoes of Barsoom intrigued me as well: the barbarian hordes (brown and riding horses rather than green and riding thoats), the giant apes, the tusked men. I desperately wanted to learn more of these parallels; they would make a fascinating study. Was this some form of convergent evolution? But I had to concentrate on the task before me.

“You plan to leave us?” the priest asked.

“Soon.”

“These people depend on you.”

“No,” I said, “they do not. Some fear me, some think me a great fighter. They need a real leader. You have failed to be that leader.”

“That’s not really fair.”

“Of course it is fair. You were second to the dead Lightning Lord. You did not step into his place. You let the Stone Heart push you aside and warp your mission, and used your drunkenness to excuse your weakness.”

“So who should lead them? Ned? He’s all of seven-and-ten.”

“Yes. He is young but of good heart. You will support him.”

“I’ll think about your suggestion.”

“It was not a suggestion.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris finds a new sister.


	10. Chapter Seven (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris learns more of this strange world.

Chapter Seven (Dejah Thoris)

On a night with clear skies I took the largest fur in our chamber and climbed up to the flat rock on top of the hill to seek out Barsoom. Tansy came along, and we lay on the fur and looked up at the night sky. Like Jasoom, this planet had a single very large moon. But that was where the similarities ended.

None of the constellations were familiar, and this bothered me. I knew we were in the northern hemisphere of this planet, since the Red Priest had spoken of frozen lands to the north. If this were Jasoom, the stars should be similar to those of Barsoom’s northern hemisphere, as both planets circled the same star. Unless, of course, I had also travelled a great span through time and the stars had shifted. I knew from John Carter’s travels and those of the other Jasoomian I had met, Ulysses Paxton, that interplanetary teleportation did odd things to the flow of time that even I did not yet understand. I had presented papers on the mathematical structure of time to the Royal Academy, and could see that this question merited more study. But not now.

As I looked above I saw no familiar stars, and no red planet. I kept a close watch for any obvious planetary movements, and chatted with Tansy as we looked upward. She described the constellations and told a little of the myths behind them; we have these as well for our stars as do John Carter’s people. I asked about stars that moved; she looked for a while and finally pointed out a blue one. Another one, this time green, would rise late at night, she explained and finally a white one as morning neared.

“And the red star?”

“The Red Wanderer,” she said. “It doesn’t appear every night. It disappears for a time, then it’s in the skies every night, then it’s gone again. I don’t know if there’s a pattern to it or not, but the Red Wanderer is part of many songs and stories.”

“What sort of stories?”

“It’s a symbol,” Tansy said. “Sometimes of love or sex, sometimes of war. More often war, I think. Some of the common folk think the Wanderer affects them and makes them fight or fuck, the Blue Wanderer makes them sad, things like that.”

I would rather have come from the planet of sex, but I could not deny that it suited Barsoom to be a symbol of war.

“Has anyone studied the wandering stars as something other than symbols or excuses?”

“Some think they are other worlds, worlds like ours,” she said. “But most learned men believe the world to be flat, which would rule out that theory.”

“The world is not flat.”

“And you know this because . . . ?”

“Have you ever,” I asked, “climbed to a tall height, a hill or tree?”

“A castle tower?”

“Yes. Could you see farther from there than you could from the ground?”

“Of course.”

“Because?”

“Because . . . you’re seeing around the curve of the world!”

“Exactly,” I said. “How do you know so much about the stars?”

“I had a noble’s education as a girl. Lord Whent believed that girls should be educated the same as boys.”

“They usually are not?”

“No, girls are taught to sew and to prepare to be married. Boys are taught to fight but also about history and the natural world.”

This explained why she seemed to speak differently than the other women in the camp, at least when she was with me. At other times she mimicked their rougher speech patterns.

“Girls and women do not study . . . the natural world?” Tansy’s people did not appear to have a word for _science_.

“That belongs to the maesters,” she said, “a body of men who keep the study all to themselves. They swear an oath to take no wives and take no part in war.”

“No women at all?”

“No women at all.”

“In my lands,” I said, “both women and men study the natural world, but mostly women.”

“I think I’d like your lands much better than these.”

“Thoros the priest spoke of the maesters. They allow no one else to study the natural world?”

“I’ve never heard of them outright stopping anyone,” she said. “Then again, I’ve never heard of anyone else trying to study it.”

My curiosity grew regarding these maesters. Were they deliberately trying to retard science and development?

“You have met maesters?”

“Well, I’ve fucked them, which isn’t exactly the same thing. They’re men like any other: swear one thing, do another.”

“You did this as a whore?”

“I sure wouldn’t fuck one for fun.”

“How did you come to be a whore?”

“You’re direct, I’ll give you that,” she said, but rolled onto her side to look at me and smile before looking up again. “My mother was a whore, but my father was Hoster Tully, the lord of the River Lands. He placed me with his wife’s noble house and the Whents raised me until I was on the verge of womanhood. It’s not unusual for noble children, including bastards, to be sent to live with other families.

“When his older, true-born daughter was to be betrothed at a huge tournament held at the castle where I lived, she pitched a fit and insisted that my father send me away. She would not have the little bastard bitch there on her special day to ruin things. I was sent back to my mother.”

“Pitched a fit?”

“She became very upset, screaming and throwing things. She threatened to tell everyone at the tournament that her father, my father, was a whoremonger.”

“What is a tournament?”

“Knights pretend to fight for the amusement of one another and noble ladies. There’s usually feasting, music and other entertainment as well. It’s a very important social occasion. Even the smallfolk get to watch and be fed. This was a famous tournament, with the King and most of the high lords in attendance. Many things that happened there shaped the next nineteen years.”

“She took you away from the family you had known?” I asked. “That was cruel of her.”

“Yes, she did. I’ve heard that even as a grown woman, she was cruel to her husband’s bastard son as well. Yet her own mother, Lady Minisa, was never anything but kind to me. She had died in childbirth by then, else I like to think she would have stepped in on my behalf.”

“Gendry said he is also a bastard,” I said. “What does that mean?”

“A bastard is a child whose parents were not married, but at least one of them was a noble. They have much lower social standing than a true-born noble child. They don’t carry their father’s name. I’m a noble’s bastard so my full name isn’t Tanith Tully but Tanith Rivers, because I was born in the River Lands. Gendry’s a noble bastard too, so he’s Gendry Waters because he was born in the lands near the sea.”

“And bastards are not liked?”

“Many of the poor people in cities are bastards, and so are peasants. No one cares or even calls them bastards – that’s reserved for a noble’s child. Marriages are rarely even recorded among the smallfolk, and most don’t even carry a family name. But among the noble classes, including even the small landowners, bastards are hated. The stain can carry on for generations.”

Since our reproduction is tightly regulated by our Breeding Councils, there is never any question of parentage on Barsoom, at least among the civilized peoples. A woman without a husband may apply to have an egg fertilized, but the offspring is never considered a lesser person. And even some married couples will apply for genetically superior eggs or sperm rather than attempt to gain approval to use their own. But laws regarding succession and inheritance are apparently very different in Westeros than those of Barsoom, as one would expect given our far greater lifespans. It saddened me that my friends would suffer for such supposed flaws.

“But you and Gendry are such good people.”

“That’s nice of you,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter to many nobles, especially to noble women. They fear that bastard children will take the place of their own offspring and inherit their father’s property. Some fear they will take a father or husband’s love from a true-born child.”

“A bastard child cannot inherit?”

“Not unless the king makes them legitimate. That means they have the same standing as a true-born child and take their father’s name.”

“And a bastard child is not loved?”

“Often not,” she said. “Many fathers simply forget their bastard children.”

“And your father?”

“I don’t think he loved me,” Tansy said. “I think he felt guilty because of me. After I was sent back to my mother, he bought the brothel where she worked and gave it to my mother. I inherited it from her when she died.”

“Brothel?”

“A house where whores live and work.”

“So your father made you a whore?”

“You could say that, but it was my mother who sold my maidenhood when she saw that I was becoming beautiful. She put me to work; I don’t know that my father wanted that or even cared one way or the other. I was a whore with a good living, thanks to my father, while the brothel existed.”

“Maidenhood?”

“A girl loses it the first time she’s penetrated. You know, when you bleed. Some men will pay a great deal to break one.”

I did not know, but I nodded as though I did.

“What happened to the brothel?”

“Soldiers burned it, and the town where it stood. I believe they did it on purpose.”

“Why?”

“The older of my father’s two true-born daughters, the one who hated me so, married the lord of the North, Ned Stark. His soldiers burned the brothel and killed most of my people. They raped me but they let me live, so I’d know what had happened and who’d done it. They said they were only following orders. I believe those were her orders.”

“Soldiers of every land use that excuse.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But I believe that they meant it. It was in the way they spoke, they acted. They were sending me a message from Catelyn. And that’s why I came here, when I heard about her leading the Brotherhood.”

“I do not understand.”

“I wanted to kill that woman for what she did to me, for what her soldiers did to the whores and cooks and laundry girls and stable boys who worked for me.”

“I am very good at killing people,” I said. “I will help you do this.”

“There’s no need. You already have.”

I had to think about that for a moment. I had killed many men here but only two women, including the one I punched over the heart during the fight when I first arrived. The other fit her story much better though.

“I already killed her? The Stone Heart was your sister?”

“She was my father’s other daughter. You are my sister.”

She rolled over to lay her head on my shoulder.

“Now you have my real story. Soon you’ll tell me yours. Your real story, not the one about some make-believe city in Sothoryos.” 

* * *

While I could not easily read Tansy’s thoughts, I was aware that she knew nothing of the importance of sisterhood (and brotherhood) among the peoples of Barsoom. She had spoken from her heart.

Our branch of the human species – for I would come to believe that we are genetically related – reproduces by laying eggs, externally from the body. We do not have the same relationship with our siblings as do Tansy’s people. Our sisters of the egg, as we call them, do not grow up with us and may be hundreds of years older or younger.

Close relationships instead are forged with our sisters of the heart. A sister (or brother) is not simply a friend or lover. We can and do have long standing relationships; the noble Kantos Kan, for example, has been my dear friend for hundreds of years but he is not my brother of the heart, and this is not unusual. We bond with brothers and sisters very rarely. I had bonded with my sister Thuvia during our year-long imprisonment by the evil Therns; thirty-six years before that, my beloved sister Kajas had been brutally murdered. I still grieve.

I was the only person of my species on an entire planet, and desperately lonely. I knew that I ached for Thuvia’s thoughts interlaced with my own, for her calming presence and even her sometimes sharp opinions. Tansy could not link her thoughts with mine, and I could not even read hers without likely causing her pain. We had no shared past, and I had not even confessed my extra-planetary origin.

Yet as I looked up at the stars, and felt Tansy’s head pressed against my chin and her warm body against mine, I knew that I wanted this alien woman to be my sister. I would fight to defend her; I would remain by her side through whatever might occur. And if I had to choose between John Carter and Tansy Rivers, that would be no choice at all.

* * *

I now felt more comfortable with my sword and my horses, and when I entered the practice yard one afternoon Ned Dayne awaited with a proposal. We sat on the nearby rocks. I listened while I played with a practice sword, balancing it upright by its pommel on the back of my hand and flipping it into the air to catch it.

“You’re the best fighter any of us have ever seen,” he began, wishing that I would put down the sword. I spun it instead.

“Who do you wish me to fight?” I asked, gleaning his purpose from his thoughts.

“You know that we have very little food stored here.”

“It has seemed adequate,” I said. “Are you saying that I should earn my share?”

“I would not object if you wished to do so, but that wasn’t my point. I was about to ask it as a favor. You see, we do have enough food for our day-to-day needs. But I’ve been looking through the stockpiles since Lady Stark’s death. Apparently she did no planning for the future.”

“The food will run out?”

“Winter is coming,” he said, apparently a phrase of great portent though it seemed rather obvious to me. “And we have a supply for three to four moons turns’ laid in under the hollow hill.”

I did some calculations in my mind. Those “moons” would last for perhaps 90 to 120 days. That seemed tight, but not enough to cause the level of worry I felt from the Lord of the Fallen Star. I knew nothing of this planet’s seasons but their years seemed roughly the same length as those of Dirt, from what I had picked out of their thoughts and conversations.

“So you need to secure perhaps another 30 to 60 days’ supply?”

“No,” he said. “I have heard that this will be a severe winter. We need to be prepared to stay under the hill for at least five years.”

“Five years?” I asked, deeply surprised. “To be spent here?”

“Normally people go to holdfasts prepared by their lords, fortified places with stocks of food and fuel behind secure walls. The people here have no lords, and would be killed if they attempted to enter one of the Lannister castles or holdfasts.”

“I cannot believe that a winter here lasts for years.”

The claim was patently ridiculous. Food would not last for five years on dry Barsoom, even less in this damper climate. I did not think it likely that they possessed some homespun method to preserve biological items of which Helium’s science knew nothing. And even if they could feed themselves, they would mow down massive swathes of the surrounding forests for firewood to keep themselves warm.

Perhaps they could place themselves in some kind of suspended state, in which they did not need food or warmth? Some plants and animals of Barsoom can do this, waiting for water to return to their environment. But were this true, then they would not need such huge supplies of food, a need which implied that the people remained awake and active.

“They don’t in Dorne, my homeland; it gets cooler but we still have harvests. I suppose your land is even farther to the south and you have no problems. But it’s different here. If we don’t secure food for these people, they will starve.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“Intercept a Lannister wagon convoy,” he said, “loaded with grain.”

“Do you know where to find one?”

“They run regularly to the south,” Ned said. “The Lannisters are stripping the River Lands to stock King’s Landing for winter. A farmer came in yesterday with his family, the Lannisters had taken all of his grain. They loaded it in wagons headed south.”

“The convoys are guarded.”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“In this convoy?” he asked. I nodded. “Six to ten wagons, a driver for each, three to four mounted guards.”

Given the size of King’s Landing, as described by Thoros, it would take more than 20,000 such wagon trains to feed the city for five years. Again, this seemed unlikely to me, yet Ned clearly believed this to be true. I returned to the subject.

“You would seem to have enough fighters already.”

“None who can stand up to the Lannister men-at-arms,” he said. “We had them once; most are dead now.”

From what I had seen of the fighters at practice, I knew him to be correct.

“They have confidence in you,” he went on. “They’ll be more willing to fight if they know you’re with us.”

“You are not much of a revolutionary army if you need an outsider to fight for you.”

“I don’t know what we are,” Ned conceded. “Outlaws? Rebels? The lost and forgotten? But I do know that we need more food.”

I thought on that last.

“The wagon drivers fight as well?”

“No,” he said. “They’re farmers forced to serve, and usually highly unwilling.”

“So they would join us?”

“I don’t know. But they probably wouldn’t fight us.”

“I will fight the Lannisters for you.”

“Thank you.”

“There are conditions,” I said. “You must have a plan of attack, and I will approve it. You must gather more information and know precisely where and when this attack will take place. You must have scouting reports on the place of attack and keep it under watch so that we are not ourselves surprised.”

“We haven’t done anything like that since before Lord Beric was killed. The first time.”

“Planning saves lives,” I said. “I will not throw mine away stupidly. Nor should you.”

“I knew that. I simply forgot. Thank you again.”

“I am a true princess, Ned. I was trained to lead, as were you. You cannot afford to forget again.”

“I won’t.”

Even with proper planning, this would be no more than minor banditry, unlikely to improve the outlook for the people living under the hill. I had gone from princess to outlaw in just a few days. Yet I had to earn my keep, and what else did I have to offer? I had killed a few deer and taught some swordplay. Was that enough? I would not allow Tansy to return to whoring, nor do so myself. Assuming that any man would pay for a woman with whom he could not couple.

Tansy did not approve of the idea when I told her.

“You could be hurt. Killed. For nothing.”

“I am very good at killing people.”

“Which won’t stop you from being killed yourself.”

“These people took me in.”

“Because they’re afraid of you,” she said, “so they feed you. They’re not afraid of me, so they fuck me.”

“That will never happen again.”

“It will if something happens to you.”

“It is all I have to repay them,” I said, having become unreasonably stubborn. “I will do as I promised.”

“Then I’m coming with you. I won’t stay here to be fucked again if you don’t come back.”

I assented. Truly, I worried what would happen to her if I left my new sister alone in the camp.

We spent an uneasy night bundled in our box of furs; I knew that Tansy was unhappy with my decision. In the morning, I put on my wolf’s-head tunic and leggings and slung my sword over my shoulder. I walked out to the horse pen with Tansy; we did not speak as we mounted up and rode out to our clearing, nor was anything said during our exercises or bathing.

“Dejah,” Tansy finally said as she prepared to mount her horse. I walked over to her and stood before her.

“Dejah,” she repeated. “I’m afraid. For you. For me if anything happens to you.”

“You will have money. Leave this place and never come back.”

“But I’d be alone. Again.”

“We are sisters now,” I said. “I will never abandon you. Come, let us return.”

She looked at me silently, apparently unsure how to react.

“I have chosen you as my sister, as you have chosen me. Among my people, we do not use the words ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ lightly. It means that we are bonded together, for the remainder of our lives. Was this your intention?”

“No,” she said, confused. “I mean, yes. No and yes. No, I didn’t know it would have such meaning for you. But yes, that’s what I want.”

“Then I will never leave you. When I leave this place, you will come with me.”

She nodded without speaking. I had called my mare over to me and now swung onto her back; if I were to ride long distances, I would need a saddle.

* * *

We found the Lord of the Fallen Star sitting alone on a large stone before a fire, frying something in a pan. I took up the stone next to him and folded my legs beneath me. Tansy did the same on the opposite side of him. He shared this “bacon” with us, thin strips of cured meat from an animal known as a pig. I had seen pigs kept in pens in the forest nearby; disgusting creatures of no apparent use beyond consuming the camp’s garbage, which they did with enthusiasm. I had no idea of their true worth. Barsoom has nothing to rival bacon: the taste, the crunch, the oily texture. I do not believe in any gods, but the existence of bacon makes me question this non-belief.

We sat there for some time in companionable silence, eating bacon. It remains one of the favorite moments of my life. We were still sharing bacon when two of the mounted perimeter guards approached with a rider between them. The man had a sack over his head. They told us he had been found wandering the nearby roads calling out for the Brotherhood, claiming he had a message to deliver.

We stood. The Lord of the Fallen Star nodded, and one of the guards removed the sack. The rider shook his head and then slowly pulled from his clothing a piece of the animal skin these people use for written words, careful that it not be mistaken for a weapon. He began to read from it.

The flowery language was difficult to follow, and the rider’s thoughts gave no help at all; he had not written the message and knew nothing of its contents until he unrolled it to read. Without the aid of telepathy, I discovered that I was less prepared to handle this language than I had assumed. Puzzled, I turned to the Lord of the Fallen Star.

“I understand exactly nothing of what this messenger demands. Please explain.”

“He represents a minor leader known as the Mighty Pig.”

“Truly?” I held up my piece of bacon. “The Mighty Pig?”

He looked at me in some confusion. I had read the concept in his thoughts but, confused myself by the messenger’s recitation, I had mistaken the exact wording. I had let slip a serious clue that I could read minds, but I knew better than to draw attention to my error. A princess must be in constant control of herself.

“Those aren’t the exact words,” Ned finally said. “He is known as _Strong Boar_. Strong means, well, strong.” I nodded. “And a boar is a dangerous and large male pig that lives in the wild. Nobles hunt them for sport, but the very largest and strongest will kill a man easily. One of them even killed the former king. They fight with no regard for their own safety.”

“So he is a powerful warrior. The name is not a jest.”

“That’s correct,” Ned said. “But I like the idea of calling him The Mighty Pig. It will anger him.”

“What else does the message say?”

“He believes that we’re led by a great but elderly warrior known as the Black Fish.”

“Do all of your leaders,” I asked, “choose such strange names?”

“It’s a long story having to do with his house’s symbol. The Black Fish stayed here a short while but was never part of the Brotherhood and left long ago. The Strong Boar challenges the Black Fish to fight him in what we call single combat.”

“We know this as well,” I said. “And what will come of the single combat?”

“In reality nothing. But the side whose champion is killed will lose some of their will to fight, and the winner’s side will grow more eager for battle. It’s a way for a fighter to gain renown as well.”

“The fight is to the death?”

“Yes,” Ned said. “A fighter may yield and become a prisoner, but that only happens when his friends and family will pay money for his release. Both sides know that will not happen here.”

“I understand,” I said. “I will fight the Mighty Pig.”

Tansy looked unhappy, but said nothing.

“You don’t have to,” Ned said. “He’s said to be one of the strongest and fiercest fighters on this continent. At least among those still living.”

“I am likewise strong and fierce. And I feel an obligation. You have no other fighter whose skills approach mine.”

The Lord of the Fallen Star nodded.

“Should I be killed,” I said, “you will care for Tansy as though she were your own sister, with no regard for her birth or her former occupation. You will defend her with your life, as I would.”

He took both of Tansy’s hands in his.

“I swear it, on whatever honor is left to me. Starfall will be your home as long as you wish.”

She nodded; I could tell she tried not to cry. Ned turned back to me.

“We’ll give Crakehall your answer,” Ned said, “but he may refuse to fight a woman.”

“Then we will tell both our fighters and his that he feared to fight a woman, and gain much of the same benefit as though he had actually been defeated.”

“You’ve done this before.”

“Not exactly,” I answered. “But this is not my first rodeo.”

He looked blankly at me, not recognizing one of John Carter’s favorite phrases.

“It means that yes, I have done similar things.”

We sent the messenger back to his lord, naming me as the Brotherhood’s champion and noting the time, place and weapons of my choice. The messenger wrote down our response but showed personal indifference to the details; he had little interest in the quarrels of his masters. His thoughts revealed that he had been chosen for this duty because he was one of the few in their small force who could read and write. We could both drop dead and he would not care.

Ned’s thoughts turned to guilt as soon as the Brotherhood’s guards took the messenger to release him well away from the camp. He had been impressed by my quickness, but knew that many fighters who impress on the practice yard die easily on the battlefield. It is the same on Barsoom. Many thought the Mighty Pig to be the strongest warrior in Westeros, in terms of raw physical power, and Ned feared that he had led me to my death.

I had no second thoughts; I rarely do in such circumstances. One does not survive as Princess of Helium without learning how to fight. I had indeed faced enemies in single combat, many times. It is standard policy of Helium for our own commanders to challenge rebel leaders, to display the superiority of the ruling family over its rivals. Those convicted of certain crimes against the state or the person of the jeddak have the ancient right to demand trial by combat, and as the lone grandchild of Tardos Mors I was often called upon to represent my family, usually against other women. That had ended when John Carter became my consort and insisted as serving as the jeddak’s champion.

Shortly before I married John Carter, the loathsome Sab Than had taken me captive in hopes of a forced marriage and forced me to fight his former betrothed in the arena of Zodanga. I never told John Carter that I had slain the princess; I had not wished to kill anyone for the twisted pleasure of Sab Than. She had been pampered and spoiled, with little skill in the arena, and no match for me. The princess was lovely, like all royal women of Barsoom, but her life was forfeit the moment she stepped onto the arena’s sands, and she knew it. But she was determined to end my life so I put my sword through her heart as thousands cheered. I knew they would have roared even more loudly had her sword plunged into my breast instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris brings home the bacon.


	11. Chapter Four (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter learns of a fateful prophecy.

Chapter Four (John Carter)

I dined alone with Illyrio that evening.

“And so the game begins,” he said, quoting some dead philosopher. “You move far faster than I had anticipated.”

“And why not?” I asked. “Much as I enjoy your hospitality, there’s no reason to remain here. I’ll spare the white man, kill Drogo, and marry the princess. And then it’s off to Westeros. I feel extremely confident, as though I’ve found my destiny.”

“I believe you’ll find it slightly more complicated than that,” Illyrio said. “But I admire your energy and your confidence. And I have a gift to aid in your quest. I felt badly for you, my friend. You deserve a finer bed-warmer, but if you’ll not accept one, let me give you this instead.”

He handed across a very fine longsword in its scabbard. I unsheathed it and tested its balance; it weighed next to nothing and felt perfect in my hand. Its blade had an unusual smoky-gray pattern in its steel. I had never seen its like.

“Valyrian steel,” Illyrio said. “The secret of its making was lost long ago. That was my own sword, when I was a bravo. Its name is ‘Steel Flame’.”

His thoughts revealed the blade to be priceless, and his most prized possession.

“Illyrio, I can’t accept this.”

“You can and you will. More than any words, this should show you how deeply I believe in you, and am committed to our shared enterprise.”

“I have no words.”

“’Thank you’ should suffice.”

“Thank you,” I said, and then changed the subject before I my emotions showed. “Tell me about this knight.”

“Jorah Mormont in particular, or Westerosi knights in general?”

“Both.”

“The Mormonts,” Illyrio said, “come from an ice-bound island off the north-west coast of Westeros, about as far into nowhere as one can be. It’s said to breed bears and fierce fighting women. Ser Jorah won a reputation fighting for King Robert against rebels, and on the tournament circuit, and that led to his winning a soft, beautiful wife. One much unlike those of his home, Bear Island.”

“As it should be,” I said. “A man should have reward for his conquests.”

“As you say,” said Illyrio, who harbored strange ideas of women having free will in such matters. “She proved an expensive ornament, and his attempts to afford her led to his exile. He fought as a sellsword, ran into debt, and lost both his wife and his freedom. Drogo bought and freed him to act as translator and to teach him Westerosi ways of battle.”

“So he owes a great deal to Drogo.”

“He does. He’ll fight hard for his master, do not doubt this.”

“Tell me about Westerosi knights. You’ve fought them?”

“Not personally, but I’ve seen them in the arena. Fighting against Belwas, in fact. They prefer to play at war, a game they call jousting. They try to knock one another from their horses, using a lance.”

“I’m familiar with it,” I said, though I could not firmly recall where I had seen the game.

“Afoot,” Illyrio continued, “they’re often at a loss, unsure of themselves. Many wear too much armor and become slow, sometimes fatally so. Mormont has vast experience fighting in Essos and is unlikely to grant you such assistance.”

I thanked Illyrio for the gift and the advice, and went to the practice yard despite the late hour. I practiced with my new sword into the night, marveling at its razor-sharp edge and light weight. While my memories remained suspect, I knew that I held a special weapon.

* * *

I returned to my chambers very late, to find Calye nervously awaiting me.

“What . . . what happens to me, tomorrow?”

“I’ll use you before I leave,” I said. “And then you’ll remain here. You’re not to show yourself in public.”

“And if you get killed? I murdered the prince for you. Illyrio will bury me in the garden right next to him. He might . . . he might not even kill me first.”

She was right; my friend would not leave any loose ends that might cause him trouble later. But it was not my problem.

“Tomorrow is not the day I die,” I said. “If I’m wrong about that, you should probably run.”

“With a slave tattoo on my left tit?”

“Don’t show it to anyone.”

“John, I’m . . . I’m scared.”

“I’m not.”

She put her face in her hands and wept, then looked up at me, red-eyed.

“At least . . . at least just this once, let _me_ fuck _you_. The way I want to. If you never come back, let me remember you, remember all this, that way.”

Even a plain-faced woman’s tears moved me, and against my better judgement I assented to her request. I lay on my back and after she played her tongue over my manhood she mounted me. When she moved my hands to her bosom I did not resist.

“Suck them,” she whispered. “You know you want to.”

And may the God I once followed forgive me, I did. I took each pink nipple into my mouth in turn as she slowly moved herself up and down until she began to shudder. I knew from her thoughts that she had felt female sexual climax; I could not recall having seen this before and found it somewhat disturbing. That did not stop me from expending my seed within her.

When she had finished she lay next to me, and after a few minutes to recover my energies I flipped her onto her back and made love to her in the more normal way of Virginia.

“John, tell me . . . tell me that you love me,” she said as I thrust into her. “Please.”

“I don’t love you.”

“Lie to me,” she whispered. “But say it, John. Please.”

“I don’t lie.”

“Just once. I’m begging. I love you. Say it back to me.”

I kissed her, as much to silence her as from passion, and felt myself grow more excited. In a moment of weakness, I gave in.

“I love you,” I whispered in her ear as I drove deeply into her. She cried, and I kissed her again. I saw no reason to pull out and finished inside her; she did not cry afterwards.

* * *

In the morning I took Calye in the proper fashion; she cried when I was done and begged me to ride away with her and forget Illyrio, Drogo and the upcoming fight. Instead I dressed in a set of what Belwas had assured me were stylish fighting leathers and a new pair of heavy knee-high boots I had been breaking in over the last several days. I rode to the Dothraki camp with Strong Belwas. Illyrio followed in his litter, accompanied by Princess Daenerys along with servants including Doreah and a small retinue of guards.

“Any final advice?” I asked Belwas as we dismounted and handed our reins to Dothraki youths.

“Watch for the hook move I showed you,” he said. “And remember that the outside is the killing edge. It only looks like a scythe.”

“I meant for this fight.”

“You know what to do,” Belwas shrugged. “Make him sweat. He can’t last long inside all that iron.”

The Dothraki had taken over an old stone amphitheater for the day’s fights. First a few young Dothraki fought prisoners while the crowd drank heavily and cheered. A young Dothraki who spoke the language of Westeros introduced himself as our guide, and led us to a large stone-walled room under the theater where I could prepare to fight the knight. No one else was present, so I stretched my muscles while Belwas drank some wine he had brought along.

I seemed to recall fighting armored knights, though on a battlefield rather than in an arena. I knew that they could move faster than one would think given the weight of their steel. The weak points would be at the joints, though were Belwas and Illyrio correct about my new sword I suspected that the Valyrian steel blade would shear through even the thickest armor. As yet I had not revealed the full extent of my speed and strength to anyone in my new homeland. I hoped that Jorah Mormont would not die today, but I would not risk my own life for this stranger’s.

Soon enough the youth returned with word that I would fight next. Belwas and I followed him down a long corridor, and he indicated a small space where Belwas could stand and shout instructions. It included a wooden seat, buckets of water and a wooden rack with several white towels neatly hung across it. A young woman stood as we approached. Of middling height, she shared the copper skin and dark hair of the Dothraki.

“This is Irri,” the youth said. “She will tend you.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but I am fine.”

“You will be glad of help when you are tired,” the woman said. “Or for the sewing of wounds. It is known.”

“It is known,” the youth repeated.

She could well be right, so I nodded as I took off my tunic and handed it to Irri. I drew my new longsword and gave the scabbard to Belwas. I decided to fight with just this one sword, given its spectacular edge, though I usually preferred a blade in each hand.

At least a dozen drums began a steady pounding, which I took to be the signal to begin the combat. The crowd rose to its feet and screamed, eager to see blood. My opponent stood in the middle of the arena, in full armor including a helmet. He carried a sword in his right hand and had a shield strapped to his left arm. I approached, then darted forward to strike at his shield, more interested in testing his reactions than in inflicting harm, at least at this stage.

Mormont was fast, and showed no clear style or pattern to his movements. His thoughts concentrated solely on my movements, properly tracking my shoulders rather than the sword. Were I a normal man, he would have been a deadly opponent. But I was not a normal man.

After trading a few flurries with the knight, I stumbled slightly. Very slightly, but I knew that an experienced fighter like Mormont would notice. He aimed a powerful down-stroke at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, but I met it with the flat of my new Valyrian blade, backed by my considerable physical strength. Mormont’s sword broke about six inches above the cross-guard.

He recovered more quickly than I had expected, bringing up his shield to cover his body and his now-useless right arm, the limb either stunned or broken by the force of my parry. As Illyrio had predicted, he carried a smooth shield without a boss, useful perhaps on horseback but not as a weapon in itself.

I kicked the shield in its center, breaking Mormont’s left arm and sending him sprawling onto his back. I flipped open his faceplate with the point of my sword. The crowd cheered wildly, eager to see blood.

“Yield,” I said. “And live.”

“Drogo will kill me.”

“I will kill Drogo,” I said. “Do you doubt it? Live and serve me instead.”

“I yield,” he said, dropping the stub of his sword. I squatted by him and pulled him first to a sitting position, and then to his feet. The crowd remained silent, and I could not blame them. It had not been an honorable fight, nor had either of us shown great skill with our blades. I had used a trick to disarm Mormont and thereby spare his life. I did not regret having done so, but I would have preferred combining that end with a more chivalrous means.

* * *

I retrieved my tunic from the young Dothraki woman, Irri, and my scabbard from Belwas. The young Dothraki who had guided us into the arena asked us to join Khal Drogo on his raised stand. We followed him, and I took a seat between Drogo and one of his so-called “blood riders,” his sworn guards and companions. Belwas sat several rows below among the Dothraki warriors and proceeded to help himself to meat and drink.

“You’re stronger than you look, John Carter,” Drogo said. “Keep up that strength. Eat. Drink. It’s the Dothraki way, to entertain an honored foe before killing him.”

“I’m now an honored foe?”

“Of course you are! My people don’t want to see me cut up some slave of the Lamb Men. I show my fitness to rule them by besting a mighty warrior.”

“So by honoring me, you honor yourself?”

“Strong and smart! I like you, John Carter. Now eat. Don’t overdo it with the wine, I want you at your best.”

A man named Qotho sat next to me, advising me on the best pieces of grilled beef and the tastiest sauces in which to dip them.

“You could have been Dothraki, John Carter,” he laughed. “I’ll be sad when you die.”

“I’m not going to die,” I said. “I’m going to be your khal.”

“Their khal, perhaps,” he laughed again, gesturing with a half-gnawed rib at the boisterous crowd. “Not mine. I’ll be dead.”

“I believed this to be single combat,” I said, puzzled.

“I’m bloodrider to Khal Drogo,” he said. “More than a brother, more than a battle companion. We ride with him, we die with him.”

“Suicide?”

“If the khal should die, we fight to avenge him before we join him in the Night Lands.”

“Just how many of you are there?”

“Only three. But it will not come to that. You will die, not Khal Drogo. I will offer a prayer for you when we burn your corpse, though. I never do that for a true enemy.”

“When I have killed you, I will do the same for you,” I said. “I would rather you live, and ride with me.”

“That’s not the way of the Dothraki,” Qotho said. “A pity you’ll have no chance to learn that.”

Soon enough, Drogo signaled that it was time to prepare. Belwas and I followed the same Dothraki youth to the dressing room, where I stretched. I had taken meat and ale in moderation, and felt ready.

When I entered the arena, Drogo already stood in the middle of the sand-covered fighting area. He held his hands aloft, one in a fist and the other holding an arakh. Once again, I gave my tunic to Irri and scabbard to Belwas.

Like me, Drogo would fight bare-chested. He was a huge man, I now saw as he strode into the area; I had only previously seen him on horseback or seated in the arena. The crowd roared its approval. He had tattoos on his chest and his upper arms, wore no armor of any sort, and fought barefoot.

I walked out to meet him, saying nothing. Equally silent, he advanced on me, and immediately attacked. He had great speed, and was a master of his unusual blade. We traded blows, and he used an unexpected move in which he sharply spun his scythe-like blade to catch and trap my own. It would have twisted my own sword out of my hands if not for my great physical strength.

I have never felt more alive than when facing a skilled opponent with sword in hand, as we dance the ballet of death. I have heard men describe their relations with women as though they feel the same sort of thrill rather than meeting a bodily need, and I have never understood. To wager your life on the strength of your sword-arm . . . creation offers no greater validation of existence.

Few men have given me a challenge like that posed by Khal Drogo. The flashing, spinning arakh was much harder to track than a straight-bladed sword, but finally I slipped my sword inside his guard and drove it away and downward. He responded quickly, but I slashed at his left, outer arm. The Valyrian steel cut off the limb, a result I did not expect, and I followed with a quick thrust into his heart.

I pulled out my sword, stepped back, and Drogo fell forward onto his face. I stood somewhat slouched, breathing hard, watching as Drogo’s three bloodriders silently walked across the sand to stand by his fallen corpse. One by one, each drew a large knife, reached for his long braid and cut it off. They threw the braids onto Drogo’s body, then drew their arakhs and spread out to face me.

Confronted by three experienced and hardened fighters, I saw no need to give them a sporting chance. I dashed to the left to face the bloodrider there, and met his strike with all of my strength, spinning him around and knocking his weapon free from his broken wrists. I stabbed him through the spine and turned quickly to face the other two; it bothered me slightly to stab a man in the back, but neither was it honorable for three of them to attack me at once.

Qotho charged with his arakh, planning to distract me so his comrade could hook my left side. I parried Qotho, turned inside his reach, and gave his friend a deep cut across his belly. The Valyrian steel cut so easily through his flesh that I felt no resistance; I only saw the spray of blood and heard his grunt of pain.

Once again, I entered the dance of death with a prime opponent. Qotho planned to die regardless of our duel’s outcome, and this gave him a certain confidence that I could not shake. A man who truly does not fear for his own life makes for a fearsome opponent, and I came very close to my own death. But eventually the point of my sword found the center of his chest, and my blade entered his valiant heart.

It saddened me to have killed such a fine warrior, a man I would have wished to ride alongside me instead of lie dead in front of me. But I could not dishonor his vows by sparing him, and I raised my blade slowly in front of my face as I stood over his corpse, a gesture of respect understood by the crowd. I would miss Qotho.

The assembled Dothraki stared in silence; at least they didn’t rush onto the sands to rip me apart. I scanned for Illyrio’s thoughts; he was shocked at my victory, having hoped for it but expected to see my death. He recognized my confusion and hoped I would realize that I must mount Drogo’s viewing stand and take the dead khal’s place physically as well as symbolically.

I scanned the crowd as well. I knew that my next actions would determine my future. They also expected me to claim Drogo’s place, and yet respect the fallen khal. And so I did, raising my sword in one hand and a fist in the other.

“Brothers!” I shouted. “For three days we feast in memory of Drogo, who now walks the Night Lands with his blood riders. And then you ride with me, to glory and plunder!”

Some looked away, but most shouted back. A large portion of these men appeared willing to follow me, at least long enough to take my measure. Should I fall short, they would doubtlessly kill me.

Drummers and dancers took to the sands while a crew of slaves removed the bodies of Drogo and his bloodriders. Fighting would resume when the arena had been readied.

I took the place reserved for the khal. None dared sit near me, but I spotted Jorah Mormont standing uneasily on the fringes of the crowd watching me. Both of his arms had been bandaged and put in slings. No doubt he had other injuries hidden underneath his long blue robes. I remained seated on a pile of cushions, much as those Illyrio preferred, and beckoned the knight to approach. He clumsily made to prostrate himself.

“No, Sir Jorah, you fought honorably. Seat yourself, have some wine.”

“It’s ‘Ser’ Jorah.”

“As you will. Drogo called you his Andal. You served him?”

“I did. Mostly as translator and advisor.”

“You fight well for a translator.”

“Once I was a knight. Then a sellsword, when things went poorly. Then the servant of a Dothraki khal, when things went poorer still.”

I knew all of this from Illyrio, but nodded politely.

“A woman was involved?” I likewise knew this from Illyrio’s description, and Mormont’s rueful thoughts.

“Aren’t they always?”

I nodded, and laughed. In his thoughts, she was beautiful, golden-blonde with a full bosom and long legs. And a voice like a screeching crow. It seemed familiar.

“As you may have heard,” I said, “I lost some of my memories in the desert. But something tells me that I’ve lived that story as well. Sit here by me, translate and advise.”

Dothraki girls began to circulate bearing roasted meats and wine. I gestured them to us, while Strong Belwas took a place on my left.

“Who can I trust?” I asked Jorah.

“No one, but you knew that. Drogo’s leading lieutenants, what they call _ko_ s, were Pono and Jhaqo. That’s Pono right at the edge of the dais, trying to watch you without being obvious. I don’t see Jhaqo.”

“They’ll follow an outlander?”

“They’ll follow strength.”

I stood.

“Ko Pono!” I called out. “Come join me.”

He approached confidently; I held out my hand and grasped his offered forearm. Belwas moved aside to make room for Mormont and Pono took the place of honor on my right. His thoughts showed him uneasy with me, seeking a sign that I was worthy of his fealty and fearing that I planned his death.

“We honor Khal Drogo,” I told him. “For the traditional three days, followed by my marriage. And ride immediately after.”

He nodded, surprised and pleased that I spoke his tongue, though I apparently did so with an accent.

“To what purpose?”

“It’s time the Dothraki ceased killing one another. We unite the khalasars. Those who fail to join us, die.”

“We stop the killing with more killing?”

“If need be. Do you disagree?”

I knew that he did not, else I would not have asked. It would also fulfill a prophecy, something about which I needed to learn more.

“No, it’s long been needed. And then?”

“We bring the lamb men,” their term for all settled peoples, “under our rule as well. Too long they’ve denied the finest pastures to Dothraki herds.”

“We crush them?”

“No. We need the food, the weapons they produce. We assure that the Dothraki have the lands that we need, no more. We are not lamb men. The lamb men take more than they need, out of greed.”

“There will be battle?”

“And glory.”

“You’re not Dothraki.”

“I am now. I am your khal. Are you my _ko_?”

“You do not wish a different _ko_?”

“Ko Pono,” I said, looking him directly in the eye in the Dothraki fashion, “You will find me a simple man in most ways. I seek victory in all things. To reach that victory, I need the best men I can find at my side. Are you not the best man I could find?”

“I am.”

He rose, as did I. He unslung his arakh; knowing what he intended, I did not flinch. He held it out to me.

“I am your _ko_. I ride with you.”

I took the weapon, spun it as he expected, and handed it back.

“And I am your khal. I ride with you.”

Pono relaxed and we enjoyed our food and drink. We compared the arakh to the longsword, a discussion I would have many times in the years to come. Soon enough Jhaqo appeared, standing nervously before the dais, unsure himself whether he wished to fight me or join me. I rose when I saw him.

“Ko Jhaqo!” I called out loudly. “Come join me. Soon we ride. I would speak with you of this.”

He hesitated, then climbed onto the dais.

“Do I need to kill you?” I asked softly so that no others would hear. “Or are you my _ko_?”

“Drogo was my khal,” he said, equally softly. “And I his _ko_.”

“This is a new day,” I said. “Ride with me as my brother, with no bitterness between us.”

He nodded, and unslung his blade. Having seen Pono accepted as my lieutenant, he did not wish to be eclipsed by his rival.

“I am your _ko_ ,” he said loudly. “I ride with you.”

“I am your khal,” I said, passing the weapon back to him. “I ride with you.”

Jhaqo settled on my left, and I spoke with both of my senior lieutenants as we ate and drank. I gave each choice portions of meat from my own plate, an ancient tradition signaling a khal’s favor that Jorah whispered to me in his own, very familiar tongue.

“What is the difference,” I asked Jhaqo, “between bloodrider and _ko_?”

“Under some khals, none at all,” he said. “Our khalasar grew too large, and our khal needed _ko_ s who could lead in battle far out of his sight. A bloodrider should be at the side of his khal during battle.”

“You are skilled in leading men, as well as with your own weapons?” 

“So Drogo believed,” Jhaqo said. “So Jhaqo proved.”

We turned to talk of horse-breeding, another favorite topic of mine and one in which Jhaqo was well-versed.

* * *

I ate and drank with my _ko_ s for what seemed like hours, as Pono and Jhaqo introduced lesser lieutenants, who also swore their loyalty. I had expected that I would have to fight at least some of them, but all of them swore. In their thoughts they did not yet give me their full loyalty, but they at least seemed willing to allow me to prove myself as khal.

After all of the fights had concluded, Illyrio approached with Princess Daenerys on his arm. She made to kneel before me, but I stood, took her hand and raised her to her feet.

“I’m promised to you,” she said in a surprisingly strong voice, the first time I had heard her speak. “I would show you my loyalty.”

“It is for me to earn that loyalty,” I said, taking my own knee but keeping her small hand in my fingers. “And to ask your hand in marriage, not demand it.”

“I will marry you,” she said, reciting what Illyrio had instructed. “I shall be your khaleesi.”

I stood and kissed her delicate hand, as happy as I could ever recall.

“And I shall be your khal,” I said. “You are my princess, and I your chieftain.”

I resumed my place after Daenerys had departed for Illyrio’s mansion, where she would remain until our wedding.

“Once you are wed,” Pono said, “the khalasar must ride for Vaes Dothrak, to present your new khaleesi to the dosh khaleen.”

“It is known,” Jhaqo agreed. “A new khaleesi must meet the old, and gain their approval.”

“How far?” I asked. “To Vaes Dothrak.”

“One hundred days,” Pono said, and looked at Jhaqo, who nodded. “Without stopping for battle.”

“The herds will have grazing?” I asked, picking up the unease in his thoughts.

“It’s springtime,” Jhaqo said. “Grass will sprout in a turn of the moon.”

“Your counsel,” I clarified, “is to wait 30 days before heading east? Will there be trouble with the dosh khaleen?”

“They understand the need to feed the herds,” Jhaqo said. “Yes, that is my counsel.”

I turned to Pono. “You agree?”

“I agree.”

I drank some wine, pondering what to do before we rode east to meet the dosh khaleen, the widows of fallen khals who held great sway among the superstitious Dothraki.

“Giving us 30 days to fight here in the West.”

“If that is your wish,” Pono said. Both of my new generals were surprised, and pleased, by my aggressive stance.

“We will discuss this after Drogo has burned,” I said. “When it is seemly. You will give more counsel then, but rest assured, we ride to battle and glory.”

Both men nodded gravely.

* * *

Eventually I retired to the sumptuous tent formerly belonging to Drogo. Mormont, Belwas and the girl Irri accompanied me.

“Enough wine,” I told Irri. “Some clean water.”

She nodded and left, and I turned to my advisor.

“Ser Jorah,” I said. “Why did I not face still more single combat, once Drogo and his blood riders were dead? The _ko_ s made their peace far too easily, it seems, agreeing to follow an outlander they should have killed.”

“It’s their prophecy,” the knight said. “The Stallion Who Mounts the World. A great khal who will unite the khalasars and bring all of the world under his rule.”

“And a foreigner who staggered out of the desert fulfills this prophecy?”

“No,” he said. “Drogo’s successor does, as foretold by one of their seers, the old women who live in their holy city of Vaes Dothrak. What they call the dosh khaleen. They thought it would be his son. You killed Drogo first, before he could sire one. When you told Pono of your desire to unite the khalasars, you put yourself on the Stallion’s path.”

“And they believe me to be this Stallion?”

He shrugged. “Who’s to say that you’re not?”

I made to dismiss him with a laugh, but stopped myself. I had appeared without a past, seemingly in a totally foreign land, with no clothing, no weapons – only my name, my most prized possession, and my skill with a sword. Had I been brought here through prophecy? My mind seemed to tell me that I had seen far stranger things made truth.

“So they’re not going to swarm this tent in a few minutes,” I asked instead, “and hack us all to death with their arakhs?”

“That’s not their way,” Mormont said. “They’ll kill you face-to-face, if that’s their wish. But they won’t. You’re their savior.”

“You’re guessing this,” I asked, “or you know this?”

“A little of both,” he admitted. “But I heard the whispers in the arena. They awaited this marriage with the princess, thinking she would be mother to their Stallion, as the old crones said he would be born of a silver mare. They assume your mother to have been fair-skinned, given your own shade.”

“I can’t remember my mother,” I said, a thought that troubled me. “But it would seem fairly certain that she was.”

I had grown tired, from the wine and the fighting as the surge of excitement faded. Along with the tent I also inherited a string of slaves both male and female, some younger warriors in training, and a great many fine horses. I posted the warriors around my tent, as Drogo would have done, after singling out two who harbored murderous thoughts and attaching them to the young men charged with tending my new herd. At a more convenient time, I decided, I would provoke them into challenging me and kill them. I did not yet feel secure enough to execute them outright.

“What did you do,” I asked the girl Irri, “before you served me in the arena?”

“I taught children to ride,” she said.

“You are Dothraki, yet a slave?”

“I was captured as a child, from a different khalasar.”

She seemed as trustworthy as any of the Dothraki. She knew of the prophecy.

“You believe me the Stallion?” I asked.

“You are my khal,” she said. “And the Stallion Who Mounts the World.”

“When I have married the khaleesi,” I said, “you shall serve her, and teach her to ride. You can fight?”

“I am Dothraki,” she said, pulling back her tunic to show the hilt of a knife.

“You can read?”

“No, my khal.”

“Few of them can,” Mormont interjected. “But they do have a written language.”

“Very good,” I said. “I will require one more woman to serve the khaleesi, also Dothraki, to teach her the language including its writing. Do you know such a woman?”

“My friend Jhiqui can do so.”

“She can fight?”

“She is Dothraki.”

The idea of women fighting still troubled me, but I now lived among a wild people and would bring a delicate princess to live with them as well. I could take no chances with her safety, and if that meant allowing women to serve as her final line of defense, then I could learn to tolerate the offense against propriety.

“Then have her join you here tomorrow.”

“We are to be your women?”

“That will not be required of you. I have another, and perhaps one more. They are not Dothraki. You will say nothing of this to the khaleesi, or you will be killed.”

“That is the way of a khal,” she said. “It is known.”

I dismissed Mormont and Irri, telling them to sleep in some of the many compartments that made up the khal’s tent. Belwas had delivered Calye to my new tent, and he kept watch alongside my new Dothraki guards all night. The tent had multiple chambers divided by tapestries; inside that reserved for the khal’s sleep Calye greeted me with an excited kiss.

“John. You’re . . . you’re alive. I was sure I’d never see you again.”

“Did anyone see you enter?”

“I dressed as a Dothraki servant.”

I felt an enormous need for release, as hazy memories told me I always did after killing a man. For a barbarian of supposedly simple ways, Drogo had a tent filled with cushions, silks and tapestries. According to Mormont he also owned a mansion in Pentos nearly as opulent as that of Illyrio. I resolved to simplify things, but first satisfied myself with Calye amid Drogo’s pillows. She did not cry when I had finished with her.

My telepathy warns me of threats while I sleep, but it did not awaken me that night. I had expected to fend off at least one assassin, but none skulked about. I awoke early, as is my habit, and took Calye again. Afterwards she rose and dressed as a Dothraki warrior rather than servant, with billowing trousers and leather vest.

“It’s the . . . the first day of our new lives,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Irri had awakened and obtained coffee and some hard bread. I indicated Calye.

“This is my bed servant,” I said. “She is a slave like yourself, and you will not take orders from her. Can you find some means to color her hair black?”

My bedwarmer’s electric-red hair stood out like a beacon among the Dothraki. She would need to blend in better, for her own safety and my own privacy.

“You … you told her to serve me?” Calye asked. Not understanding the Dothraki language, she was touched by what she mistakenly took as my solicitousness.

“No,” I said. “I told her that you are my slave, as is she, and in no way her superior. She will help you color your hair black.”

“So I’ll . . . I’ll look like a light-skinned Dothraki?”

“You’ll look like a dead Dothraki,” I said, taking in her strangely pale skin. “But it’s better than becoming a dead whore of Lys.”

She sniffled, believing that I had shown care for her.

“I love you, too,” she whispered. “Wherever you lead, I will follow.”

Feeling generous in the wake of my victories, I said nothing and allowed her the delusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter marries his princess. His other princess.


	12. Chapter Eight (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris duels in single combat.

Chapter Eight (Dejah Thoris)

On the next morning we rode out to the meeting place, an open field that Ned and Gendry knew well. When we camped in the woods that night Tansy held me tightly under our sleeping fur, but did not voice any more objections. I knew she was frightened, both for me and for her fate should things go wrong, but she had grown much calmer. I suspected that either Gendry or Ned had told her that I needed to feel confident when fighting the Mighty Pig.

As the sun rose on the next day, we approached what Ned called without irony “the field of honor” by way of a narrow trail through heavy forest, and I halted my friends before we came into view of anyone already on the field. I pretended to fuss with the lacings on my boots, but actually wanted a moment to scan the nearby forest with my telepathyAfter hearing about the Lannister and his allies I did not trust this Mighty Pig not to lay an ambush for us, but I only detected four people. Satisfied, I indicated that we could ride on.

We entered the field under the terms laid down by the Lord of the Fallen Star at my direction. My opponent rode forward accompanied by three men and dismounted. I did the same, followed by Ned, Tansy and Gendry.

My friends had explained that such combat usually begins on horseback. As I had been challenged, I had the right to set the terms and I preferred to fight on foot with swords since pistols were not an option. Gendry would serve as my “squire,” and he explained that a young warrior-in-training accompanies a knight to help adjust the armor, supply replacement weapons, tend to the war horse and so on. I had need of little of this, but it pleased him to continue the tradition. The Lord of the Fallen Star would take the role of “herald,” while Tansy would tend to any wounds I suffered. It all followed long-accepted practice and I accepted it as I did not wish to cause my friends distress.

Under a rather unattractive violet-colored cloak Ned had lent me I wore the leather fighting harness and skirt that the leather-working woman had made, with my sword slung over my back and a dagger at each hip. Gendry had made a set of armored gauntlets that covered my forearms, and crafted a bronze image of Barsoom to decorate each; I had told him, truthfully, that the red orb was the symbol of my house. That was the only protection I wore.

I also had a new set of leather riding leggings, very soft and comfortable, and fine deer-skin leather boots as well, laced up to just below my knees. Tansy had pulled my long black hair into what she called a “ponytail” to keep it out of my eyes and tied it with a bright blue ribbon, but otherwise I wore no headgear. I was very pleased with my look, a princess both dangerous and beautiful. I shrugged off the cloak and handed it to Gendry.

Tansy placed her hand alongside my face. “I finally found a sister. Don’t take her away.”

I kissed the palm of her hand.

“Do not worry,” I said. “I will be fine.”

Tansy looked at Gendry. He shrugged his broad shoulders.

“I’m not worried.”

“Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, accepts the challenge of Ser Lyle Crakehall,” the Lord of the Fallen Star announced in a voice surprisingly powerful for his slender build. “Combat shall take place on foot, with swords and daggers the weapons of choice. It shall continue until one combatant yields or is dead. Is this agreed?”

“Is this some sort of jest?” asked one of the men opposing us. “We agreed to extend you rabble the same courtesy as true-born nobles, and this is your response?”

“Silence,” snapped the Mighty Pig, a broad-shouldered and dark-haired man of indeterminate age. He was very large, considerably taller than I and of at least twice my weight, possibly much more. “With the Black Fish gone they can choose whomever they please. If she fights as good as she looks this will be a fine morning.”

While his friends resented my presence, my opponent took me seriously and studied me closely, noting that I seemed relaxed. He suspected that I must be some sort of assassin or pit fighter from a far-away land hired by the Brotherhood. He was wrong, but it was not a bad guess. I continued to be surprised at the similarities between this planet’s Eastern Continent and Barsoom, where many cities likewise allowed pit fighting.

While Crakehall studied me, I did the same. Much like John Carter, he saw combat as a sport; he fought to gain reputation and to burnish his honor. I fought to kill people, while not being killed myself. John Carter had disdained my attitude, in what I now saw as one of the first of the many differences that would sunder our marriage. I had little care for exquisite swordplay or graceful moves; when I wished to show grace, I danced. When I wished to fight, I used every weapon and means at my disposal including my fists, teeth and feet. John Carter had dismissed me as a mere “brawler,” but my attitude had kept me alive while my enemies had died on my sword.

On this day, Lyle Crakehall would join them.

The Mighty Pig gestured to one of the men to hand him his helmet. Pulling it over his head, he ordered his attendants to back away. My friends did so as well.

“Whenever you’re ready, my lovely.”

I drew my sword over my shoulder, reaching back with my left hand to pull the scabbard downward – video heroes always pull one-handed over their shoulder, but it takes both in the real world else the blade will become stuck halfway out. The Mighty Pig started in surprise.

“Oath Keeper,” he said. “That’s Lannister’s family sword.”

“No longer,” I answered, assuming a standard fighting stance.

“A water dancer with big tits and a Valyrian steel blade. You don’t see that combination every day.”

He carried a long and wide sword in his right hand and a large shield on his left arm. I knew that type of sword from John Carter’s book – a “great sword” – and knew that it was meant for piercing or hacking through armor. My opponent’s thoughts showed that he recognized the fighting style of Helium as very similar to one from some city on this planet. I would have much less of an advantage than I had hoped.

I tested his guard with a quick strike, which he parried easily. He was fast, but he already knew that he was in trouble. I struck at him several more times, each blow coming quicker than the last. He tried to strike me with his shield but I leaned into it, only allowing him to push me harmlessly away. I flew several feet backwards, but landed in a crouch on the balls of my feet. I snarled and slowly dragged the fingers of my left hand along the ground, the ritual challenge of a fighting woman of Helium.

Crakehall had never seen such, and it unsettled him even more than the failure of his shield strike, apparently a favorite move of his to exploit his great strength. I twirled the sword and circled for another round of strikes.

“Hold!” the Mighty Pig called, extending his sword and shield to either side of his body. The Lord of the Fallen Star’s thoughts indicated some surprise that my opponent asked for a pause so early in the fight, but it apparently was within his rights. Reluctantly, I backed away.

Tansy gave me some small fruits candied in a sweet, sticky substance and a drink of water. Gendry looked briefly at my sword and nodded; it had not a mark on it. The Mighty Pig pulled off his helmet and stacked his shield on top of it, and proceeded to remove pieces of armor from his legs and his upper arms with the help of two of his friends, both of them apparently squires. He drank a great deal of water; he was already sweating profusely. We do not sweat on Barsoom.

“You're too fast for an armored knight,” he said. “And that blade would cut through steel anyway were you strong enough to put real force behind it.”

“You’re not here to flirt,” said his third friend, who stood with his arms folded and glared at me. “Hurry up and kill the bitch. We have meat and wine awaiting us.”

“This is why I fight and you talk,” the Mighty Pig replied. “I don’t know where in the seven hells they found her, but she’s a professional. She might be faster than Lannister was before the amputation. So shut your mouth and watch a real fight.”

“All I see is the vaunted Ser Lyle Crakehall scared to fight a half-naked foreign bitch.”

The Mighty Pig struck him across the face with the back of his hand and then walked out to face me again without looking back. I did not like his dark-haired friend; his narrow face and pointed nose with dark whiskers under it reminded me of an ulsio, the vermin who live in tunnels under our cities. But I kept my attention focused on my opponent.

“How did you come by Jaime Lannister’s sword?”

“He left it stuck through the heart of a large woman warrior.”

“So he killed the big ugly bitch?”

“Do not call her that. Her name was Brienne. She was foolish in love but she had honor in battle.”

Actually, she was fairly foolish in battle as well, willing the Lannister to slay her, but I did not tell this part to the Mighty Pig.

“As you will, my lady. That was ill-said on my part. And where is Lannister?”

“I do not know. He rode away before I thought to kill him.”

“He never was very good with the ladies. So you stole his sword?”

“He is welcome to try to take it back from me.”

“That would be my task today. Shall we resume?”

This time I held my sword at guard and waited for him to strike, wanting to test his speed without the cumbersome armor and shield. He now fought two-handed, and his thoughts revealed that he hoped to use his longer reach to his advantage. It felt somewhat dishonorable to read his mind during the fight when he could not do the same, yet I had no wish to die this day. And without my enhanced speed and strength as well as my telepathy, he would surely cut me in half with that monstrous sword.

Monitoring the thoughts of an experienced, instinctual fighter like the Mighty Pig only provided a slight advantage. I knew his strategy for the fight, and received some early warning of moves he planned. But most of his sword-work came without thinking, in the way of a true master. I had to rely on my own instincts, honed in hundreds of battles and tens of thousands of practice sessions over a lifespan many times the length of his.

He was tremendously strong; I could not have fought off even a single strike without my own new strength. I lacked his mass, and would have been hard-pressed to defend myself had he chosen to use that advantage rather than rely on his blade speed. But he considered himself a master swordsman, and against another opponent his choice to depend on that skill would probably have been correct.

Our swords clashed for some time before I saw an opening. I darted forward and smashed my sword’s cross-guard into his face. Stunned, he backed up. I chopped down on his blade as hard as I could, given the short radius, and knocked it free from his hands. The blow probably broke both of his wrists. I kicked him in his side, sending him sprawling onto his back with multiple broken ribs.

“That’s not part of the water dance,” he gasped. Blood streamed from his nose, now a broken match for that of his lord and that of his ulsio-faced friend.

I stood over him, slowly twirling my sword. The fight was to the death. But I had already won. I hesitated to take his life.

“Tell my father I died well,” he called to his friends. He looked up at me. “Do it quickly,” he said in a whisper. _And do it bare-breasted_ , he added silently.

A few moments from death and these were his thoughts. I still do not know why, but this amused me and I paused long enough to realize that I did not want my new-found sister to see me kill a helpless man.

“You fought well, Mighty Pig. Go back to your lord and leave this place.”

I stuck my foot under his sword and flipped it up into my hand. It had an ornate basket guard and was decorated with many jewels. My friends had approached and I tossed the Mighty Pig’s huge blade to Gendry, who plucked it out of the air and studied it with fascination.

“I will keep this to remember you. I will leave you your life to remember me. Now go.”

I leapt onto my mare's back straight from the ground, while the Mighty Pig’s friend began to shout insults at me, declaring me a whore just like Tansy. I turned back and pointed my sword directly at his vermin-like face. His nose twitched. It still bled from the Mighty Pig’s blow.

“I take no joy in killing an honorable foe. You, I will enjoy killing. You should leave while you are able.”

* * *

We rode away, Gendry and the Lord of the Fallen Star in front, and Tansy and I behind. She reached over to take my hand and squeeze it. 

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

“Thank you,” I said. Slowly, I was learning the courtesies of this place.

“You know, you really can’t keep taking people’s swords,” Gendry leaned back in his saddle to call to me. “It’s not considered polite.”

“I should have searched him for money.”

“That’s even worse. It’s just not done among the high-born.”

“In our lands, when you kill an enemy in single combat, you take his or her possessions including any servants. In some lands nearby you even take his or her name.”

“I have a hard time imagining you as a pig.”

“Thank you, Gendry.”

“The people will want to celebrate this victory,” said the Lord of the Fallen Star. “This will help bring the Brotherhood back together.”

“No,” I answered.

“No?”

“The Lannister’s men know we are within but one or two days’ ride of here. The ugly man with the pointed nose may be stupid, but the Mighty Pig is not. They will have scouts searching for us. We need to be searching for those scouts and killing them as far from our caves as possible.”

“Thoros said we could hide in the caves,” Ned said.

“Thoros is a fool, caring only for his wine and his god, in that order. You think you can hide the smoke, the trees cut for firewood, the pig yard, the tracks of horses? And the pits filled with . . .”

“Shit?” Tansy supplied.

“Yes, shit. The caves are fine shelter, but they will not hide you from anyone on the ground.”

They would hide them from air scouts, but I had seen no evidence that these people had any form of flight.

“You’re right,” Ned agreed. “I’ll organize search teams and put everyone on alert.”

“Only a small number of search teams. Keep most of your fighters close by. We have had many people leave the camp. I have heard their words.”

Actually, I had read their thoughts, but I still did not want to share knowledge of my ability with my friends.

“They were angry that I killed the Stone Heart, or that I killed the rapists or their friends. Some are even angrier that I wore no clothes and still show too much flesh for their liking. Others think I have sex with Tansy and call us an abomination, or resent my protection of my sister. Soon some of them will be captured and forced to tell our location, or will do so willingly. Either way I have brought you your doom.”

“Our doom came long ago. You freed us from Lady Stone Heart, and you fought for us. I’m glad to know you.”

“And I you.”

* * *

I slept well that night, with Tansy curled beside me under our sleeping fur. The next morning as we rode out on the last segment of our journey back to the caves, I told the Lord of the Fallen Star that I would join the scouting expeditions. I wanted to see more of this place. Tansy said she would ride with me.

Many relationships among these people are different than those of Barsoom, some very different, but sisterhood is one that I understood. Thuvia has been my sister for many decades, though we come from different families. I found the same bond growing with Tansy despite her lack of telepathy.

“I’m sorry I was so upset before,” Tansy said as we set out on our scouting mission, just the two of us. “I should have trusted your instincts. You know how to fight.”

“I was bred and trained for it, among other things,” I said. “But that does not mean it is not dangerous. He was a very good fighter and could have killed me.”

“I’ve never seen anyone move so fast as you did in that fight.”

“Have you seen such battles before?”

“Not a formal fight between knights or whatever that was yesterday. There was a battle during Robert’s Rebellion in the town where my mother had her brothel; King Robert hid in the brothel when the fighting started and ran out the front door to join in when his friends arrived. I saw some men killed, but it happened very quickly. That was when I first met the king, but I wasn’t working yet. I just brought him wine.”

“Tansy,” I said, trying to sound very serious. “You have now seen that I am a very experienced fighter. I promise you that I will never take a foolish risk with my life unless you or I are in great danger.”

“You would risk your life for me?”

“Of course I would,” I said, surprised at the question. “You are my sister.”

“No one has ever felt that way about me. Not even my mother. Everything anyone ever did for me had a price attached to it.”

“That was the past.”

We rode for some time, seeing no one. Eventually a lone rider nosed his horse out of the trees and blocked the path ahead of us. He wore a coat of armored rings and had a shield strapped to his back. He pointed his sword at us and started to say something; his thoughts said he would demand our money and horses and then rape us.

I did not let him finish. I pulled out one of the daggers from my harness and threw it; it lodged deeply in his throat. He dropped the sword and made some retching sounds. We rode past and left him slumped in the saddle. I pulled my dagger out of his throat as we passed and began to clean it with a rag I kept tucked in the back of my skirt.

“You’re not going to take his sword?”

“It is not a very good sword. And you can see that he has not eaten in days. That means that he has no money.”

I knew he had no money because that lack had been in his thoughts.

“What about his horse?”

“You are right.”

I rode back to where he continued to bleed and drew the large working knife that I usually kept strapped to my thigh to cut the straps holding his saddle in place. He fell onto the ground, saddle and all. I removed the fittings – the bridle – from the horse’s head and the bit from its mouth. I told it telepathically to go where it would. I saw his sword on the ground, and decided it should not remain there for any new bandit to take up. I dismounted, picked up the sword and drove it deeply into a thick tree.

Then we rode on, turning onto a narrow path that ran through the woods. My mare believed this path would loop around a hill and lead us back to the road to begin our return journey. Horses know directions very well. Shortly afterwards I detected thoughts ahead. I slipped off my horse and motioned to Tansy to follow. I wished to move silently, but kept stepping on small pieces of wood that broke with popping noises that seemed as loud as gunshots. If this planet had gunshots. Still the people ahead gave no sign of noticing me; they were intently focused on something I could not identify.

Coming closer, I saw why they had not reacted. A young man lay on top of a young woman, his hands on the ground on either side of her shoulders while he thrust his reproductive organ into her matching orifice. He grunted each time. She lay back with her knees raised and did not speak or move. Their clothing was strewn about the small clearing and both were naked.

I had telepathically spied on the sex act, but had not observed it myself. It looked awkward, and while I understood that this was what John Carter had desired to do with me, or more correctly to me, I could not see its attraction, particularly for the woman. The woman’s lack of participation implied that she had been forced to receive his sex organ, but rather than the pain and humiliation suffered by Jeyne and Willow her thoughts sleepily considered whether she should wash her underclothing when they returned to their camp and imagined the Lannister thrusting into her instead of this youth. I was not sure what to make of this, but decided that I needed to respond.

I drew my sword and walked up behind the man, prepared to kill this rapist in the act. Tansy placed her hand gently on my sword arm and said, “Wait.” Instead I placed my sword on the man’s shoulder so that he could see its point. He stopped thrusting. I turned to Tansy.

“Is this not rape?”

“No,” she said, “this appears to be willing sex.”

“But she is not enjoying herself.”

“That’s because he’s not very good at it.”

The young man started to stammer.

“Ser . . . Ser Jaime?”

“No,” I said.

“But you have his sword.”

“Wait,” Tansy said again. “I know these two. This is Peck, Jaime Lannister’s squire. And he’s fucking Pretty Pia out here in the woods. She grew up in the same castle I did. What in the seven hells happened to your teeth, girl?”

She shook her head, too terrified to speak. She was pretty, with yellow hair drawn into braids on either side of her head, though her body was fleshier than what we of Barsoom consider beautiful, with large, pale breasts with unusually large, brown areolas. She covered her mouth with her hand, but I had a glimpse of shattered teeth behind her fingers.

“Where is the Lannister?” I demanded sharply.

“I . . . I don’t know,” the youth said. Like the girl, his skin was very pale, especially his exposed ass which looked ridiculous. I could not see his face. “He rode off weeks ago with the big ugly bitch and hasn’t been seen since.”

That word again. He yelped as I accidentally cut him on the shoulder. It truly was an accident. At least I think it was.

“So, you figured you could get in a quick fuck while your master was gone?” Tansy asked. His thoughts confirmed that this was exactly what he had planned.

“Ser Jaime didn’t care what we did,” Peck said. “Black Walder won’t let us share a tent in camp.”

“What of the Mighty Pig?” I asked.

“Strong Boar Crakehall,” Tansy clarified.

“They brought him into camp this morning,” the squire said. “Strong Boar fought a strange foreign woman who busted him up badly. He said she was a great fighter. Black Walder said the Strong Boar was simply weak.”

“So why,” I asked, “did Black Walder not fight this heroic woman?”

“He said she ran away rather than face him.”

“And you believed him?”

“He’s afraid of her,” Peck said. “That’s obvious. But anyone should be afraid of someone who can do that to Strong Boar. Can I pull out now?”

“No,” I said. “This Black Walder leads you now?”

“Yes.”

He pictured the man who had insulted us after the single combat with the Mighty Pig.

“A man with black hair and a pointed face like a small ugly animal?”

“A weasel,” Tansy supplied.

“Yes.”

“And he sent you,” I asked, “to find this most powerful woman warrior?”

“No. He wants to head back to River Run as soon as the Strong Boar can be moved.”

“It’s the name of the great castle in this region,” Tansy added. “The home of Hoster Tully.”

So, the weasel-man’s name was Black Walder. I should have killed him after the fight with the Mighty Pig. I would correct that error if I encountered him again, if only for slandering me. Yet we benefitted greatly from his stupidity; he had no scouts looking for our camp. Perhaps, I thought instead, I should leave him alive so he could continue his blundering.

“Where,” I asked, “is the rest of the Lannister’s army?”

“I can’t tell you that.” He thought of their camp, but I could not tell where it might be.

“Don’t make her angry,” Tansy said.

“Please,” the girl, Pia, whispered, keeping her teeth hidden behind her fingers. Her hands were red and worn, in contrast with the rest of her soft, pale body. “Tell her what she wants to know.”

“They were camped between the tits when Ser Jaime left and they stayed there.”

“Do not make breast jokes,” I said. “They make me angry.”

“It’s a pair of hills well north of here that horny men call The Tits,” Tansy explained. “Near a small town called Pennytree.”

“Horny?”

“Wishing to have sex,” Tansy said. “That is, even more than they do all the time. So anything sort of round looks like a breast to them.”

“Does the Lannister,” I asked, “have any other soldiers nearby?”

“The Holy Hundred is at Harrenhal.”

“It’s a gigantic castle maybe a few days from here,” Tansy again explained, “mostly ruined. I was raised there; so was Pia. But even mostly ruined leaves a lot of usable castle.”

“Who are these Holy Hundred?”

“That, I don’t know,” Tansy said. “Squeal, squire.”

“There are only eighty-six of them now,” he said. “They’ve taken vows to fight the enemies of the Faith, but the Faith doesn’t seem to want them. They pray a lot and practice their fancy drills on horseback. We don’t know if they can actually fight.”

He had a great deal of contempt for these holy warriors, apparently learned from his master.

“They are the only soldiers at this Harrenal?”

“Yes,” he said. “We took the old garrison of rapists and robbers away with us.”

“Don’t move,” I told him. They had but one horse; I removed its saddle and bridle, and told it to leave. It trotted off through the woods and was soon out of sight. The young man had a very fine sword; I of course kept it. I also took his coins and his clothing, and I kept his exceptional saddle and bridle.

“You can’t leave us like this,” he said.

“I think we just did,” I said. “You may continue fucking.”

We waited until they could not hear us before we started laughing. We could be sure that these two would not admit that they had seen us in the forest.

“I like you, Dejah Thoris,” Tansy said. “Where did you get that attitude?”

“I was shy and retiring before I met you.”

“Can you read my thoughts as well as theirs?”

I stopped walking and put down the saddle. I had not thought that she knew.

“How did you know?”

“You knew who had raped Jeyne and Willow before anyone answered,” she said. “You know the ideas behind names and other words but can’t get them exactly right, like calling Strong Boar the Mighty Pig. Even Ned knew that something odd had happened. Just now you accepted that the Holy Hundred were the only other soldiers nearby, when we expected to hear about other patrols. You can be scatterbrained but you don’t make that sort of mistake when it comes to things that involve fighting.”

“I allowed you to figure out my secret.”

“I share your bed and your meals,” she said. “And I have a curious nature. I’ve a great deal of experience in seeing through others, and that includes noticing when they change the subject. Can you read my thoughts?”

“You hide them well.”

“I was a whore for a long time,” she said. “It’s an acquired skill. But you really can read theirs?”

“Yes, I can read the thoughts of most people here. Do not tell them.”

“Of course not. We’re sisters. Sisters keep each others’ secrets. You can’t read mine at all?”

“Enough to help me understand your speech,” I said, “the concepts the involuntary part of your mind wants me to understand. I could probably discern more with some effort, but you would likely feel the intrusion. It might be painful, and I would never harm you.”

We saw no one else before we met the first sentries outside the cave complex. 

* * *

On the next morning, at least a dozen men and three women asked if I would teach them to fight. Slowly, I was gaining acceptance. I figured I only had to kill about twenty more of their enemies before all of them tolerated my presence.

I know myself prone to what the psychologists of Barsoom call “inner considering,” placing overweening importance on how others think of us and then wallowing in regrets and second thoughts over how one might have handled a situation differently. As a princess, I had automatically had the acceptance of others. They had no choice in the matter. And therefore, I had learned to crave actual acceptance; though we of Barsoom can read thoughts, we also learn to shield them, and second- or third-order considerations like motive are among the easiest to mask from others. Deep probing of another’s thoughts is considered extremely rude; in polite company, one takes only what is offered. And a princess must never be rude.

My eagerness to accept Tansy’s offer of sisterhood clearly confirmed my desire. I did not need a sister in this place; while a cultural guide would prove useful in my search for John Carter I would be more effective if I focused on this task and did not become involved with any of this planet’s people or events.

I remained in the meadow after our morning exercises concluded.

“Are you alright?” my new sister asked, concern in her voice.

“My mind is filled with many conflicting thoughts,” I admitted. “I would like to exercise for a while longer to bring some order to them.”

She nodded her head, stepped closer to me and looked into my eyes.

“I love you, Dejah,” she said. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I love you, too,” I said, reflexively. And I realized that I meant it.

“I’ve never said that to anyone,” she said, “not unless I expected to be paid for it.”

She hesitated.

“I want you to look into my thoughts and see that I mean it.”

“I do not have to,” I said, “in order to know.”

“Please. It’s important to me. Making someone think they love you, pretending that you love them . . . oldest whore’s trick there is. I want you to know this is no game.”

I did as she asked. With any amount of practice, she could have created a false emotion, but this did not seem to be the case. She started slightly when she felt me enter her thoughts. I touched her gently with my fingertips on the side of her face.

“I love you too, Tansy.”

She nodded, walked away and mounted her horse. I resumed the movements. I knew that John Carter had fallen impulsively in love with me, but it had not been mutual at first. We take our time to fall in love on Barsoom but somehow, I had done so here in a remarkably short time. In Helium I would never have spoken with someone like Tansy, much less come to call her sister – I spent nearly a year imprisoned alongside Thuvia of Ptarth before I thought of her as my sister, and she was a princess like me. But Tansy was becoming a part of me already, and I could not bear to think of parting from her.

I did not belong in this place; that was obvious from a brief glance at my skin or eyes. Yet I desperately wanted to belong. I had never truly belonged in Helium. My privilege kept me apart from the rest of my city. Here I had a chance to earn a place, to actually become part of a group. My royal birth meant nothing to these people; many of them doubted my story and some called me “princess” with intentional irony. If they accepted me, it would be because I deserved to be accepted.

Some would never do so, of course. Possibly most. Compared to the Brotherhood’s overall needs, the food Tansy and I ate and the space we occupied took up very little of their capacity. No one went cold or hungry because of our presence. Even so, I would feel better about leaving these people who had taken me in if I could leave them something in return. I may not pretend to be a paragon of honor like John Carter, but I have my own pride.

My thoughts returned to Ned Dayne’s proposed attack on the grain convoy. The Brotherhood had many non-combatants to feed, far more than in a comparable community of Barsoom: women here did not usually fight, and there were also children and old people. The people of this place, much as John Carter had said of his own world, seemed to grow old and feeble at a much younger age than we of Barsoom.

Seizing a train of wagons would help, but a thought tickled at the edge of my mind. This had bothered me to such an extent that I had sent Tansy back to the caves without me. And then the pieces came together. I leapt atop my mare and headed back to the horse pens, where I found Tansy brushing our horses.

“I have an idea,” I told my sister, as I brushed my mare and put her into the pasture. “It will mean killing people, but it will settle our debts with the Brotherhood and strengthen Ned as their leader. He has been our friend and I wish to help him. And then it will be time to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris encounters an out-of-place-and-time singer. Our princess is not a fan.


	13. Chapter Nine (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris kills a Nittany Lion.

Chapter Nine (Dejah Thoris)

I sought out the Lord of the Fallen Star. He had just finished sword practice with Gendry. Despite my work with them, they continued to practice in the style of this planet, swinging madly at one another until one or both tired. We walked some distance into the forest while he mopped his face with a cloth; Tansy trailed just behind us, curious as to what I had in mind.

“You wished,” I said, “to bring the Brotherhood back together with a victory.”

“Yes,” he nodded, “and I’d hoped that yours over the Strong Boar would do that.”

“To some of these people, I will never be one of you. They need a victory in which they can take part themselves, so that it is truly theirs.”

“I agree.”

“And you also need a great deal of food,” I said, “for the winter that you claim will last for years.”

“I agree with that as well. Winter truly is coming.”

“So you say,” I said. “I know how to do both of these things at once, and settle my debt with your Brotherhood.”

“You’re our guest,” he said. “There is no debt. Were there any, you more than paid it by fighting Crakehall. Anyone else would lie dead right now.”

And by anyone else, he meant himself, forced to fight Crakehall out of some childish sense of honor. He believed that I had saved his life; I agreed with this assessment.

“You and Gendry have shown me friendship, and you wish to protect these people. I will help you do that, but then I must move on. My sister leaves with me.”

“Very well,” he said. “What do you have in mind?”

I told him about finding Squire Peck and his information about Harrenhal, and how Tansy had been raised there. She could guide us inside.

“Is this so?” he asked Tansy.

“I’m hearing this for the first time, too,” she said. “But I think so. It’s been a long time since I was there.”

“The Holy Hundred number but 86,” I said. “Eighty-six men cannot hope to even watch, let alone hold, such a massive fortification. There will be many unguarded entrances. We will find one, enter, and hunt down the Holy Hundred like ulsios – the vermin who live in tunnels under the cities of my land.”

“Capture a garrisoned castle?”

“We know the strength of its garrison,” I said, “and we have a guide. They will not expect either. And a castle holds a great deal of food, you once explained to me.”

“That’s usually true. It’s probably true at Harrenhal too,” he said. He looked at Tansy. “Can you get us inside, my lady?”

“You know I’m no lady.”

“It’s proper address for the sister of a princess.”

“Very well,” she said, clearly pleased. “And yes, I think so. Have you seen Harrenhal?”

“Only at a distance.”

“It’s even larger than it looks,” she said. “Old King Harren the Black built his castle with a warren of tunnels and passages, and you know how children are. We played in them all. Dejah’s right. There will be many more than 86 men can watch. I can find one that’s not guarded.”

“Do you wish to do this?” he asked Tansy, something I should have done. I had assumed her participation without asking.

“Yes,” she said. “Dejah put her life on the line for the Brotherhood. I feel as though I should do something, too. I’ve really only ever thought about myself.

“I can’t say I like these people. There are some I wouldn’t mind watching starve. But Dejah believes in you, Ned. That you can make something better of them. I trust her judgement.”

“You do?” he asked, looking at me.

“I . . . It is true, but when did I say that?” I asked Tansy.

“You told me of your ride with Thoros,” she said. “It’s the words between the words that tell the real story.”

“Thank you,” Ned said. “Both of you.”

He paused, and nodded slowly.

“We’d need every wagon, driver and pack horse we can muster. We might be able to find a few more in the castle. And we’d need to sneak all of that past Lannister patrols.”

“I do not know enough about these lands,” I said, “to help with that.”

“But you would come with us to invade the castle?”

“You will need Tansy to find the entrance,” I said. “And I will not be separated from my sister.”

“Good,” he said. “You’re worth a hundred men by yourself in a fight.”

“But I am not Holy.”

“So they will discover.” 

* * *

The Lord of the Fallen Star divided the Brotherhood’s fighters into three groups. He selected 45 of the best for the attack on the castle. All but one were men, and all had trained with me in the practice yard. They would have confidence in my fighting abilities, at least, and could be trusted to obey my instructions during battle.

I had doubts about the one woman Ned had named to the fighting group, called Swampy Meg by the others. This name appeared to be a sexual reference of some sort, but I did not understand its meaning. She was physically small and not very strong or skilled with her preferred weapon, a staff of hardened wood. Her ferocity impressed Ned and most of the other men, and the Lord of the Fallen Star feared denying her a place. I feared that she would be killed. Meg’s lover, a healer named Melly, would also accompany us. I had never spoken to her, but the others seemed to respect her skills.

Another group would look after the train of wagons, pack horses and horses known as “mules” that had been cross-bred with a smaller related animal to create a beast of burden that was enormously strong but both stupid and belligerent. The third group of fighters would remain behind to protect the non-combatants. Thoros of Myr would look after the wagon train, and Neral, who led the hunters I had assisted, would see to the camp; Ned’s thoughts revealed a great deal of trust in him.

It pleased me to see Ned’s growing confidence, but I wondered about my sister.

“We are going to kill many people,” I said as we sat alone outside the caves following Ned’s description of his arrangements. “Are you prepared for this?”

“I’ve seen people killed,” she answered. “People I cared about.”

“I know, and I am sorry. But this is different. Instead you will see someone you care about kill others you do not know. It can be a disturbing sight.”

“I’m ready to do my part.”

“That does not include killing. I will not expose you to that, not willingly.”

“Dejah. I am very, very far from an innocent. I’ve not been one since I had 12 years.”

“Tansy. I have killed many people, some here and many more at home. They do not truly die. They stay with you. They . . .” I floundered for the word.

“Haunt you?”

“Exactly. And I would spare you that.”

“I’ll trust your judgement.”

I did not believe her.

“You have never had a sister before?”

She laughed, softly.

“You’re the one who can read thoughts. I’m supposed to be the one who can read people.”

“And I am the one who changes the subject when she is not comfortable.”

“No, I never have,” she admitted. “I can’t say I’ve loved anyone since I was sent away from the Whents.”

“And now you love me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I am ignorant of much of these lands, and their ways. I am naïve about other things, whether here or at home. Yet some things I do know a great deal about. I would not have you harmed, in your body or your soul.”

“I know that.”

“Then trust me in this. I may do some terrible things in the days to come, so that you do not have to.”

“Sisters should share their burdens.”

“That does not mean they do the same things. Sisters protect each other. Let me protect you from this, free from worry for you.”

“All right. I trust you,” Tansy said, looking up at the sky. “I think it’s harder to say that to someone than I love you.”

“It is. And I trust you.” 

* * *

I went over the fight with the Mighty Pig in my mind, and made some adjustments to my exercises and sword practice. I could not be complacent simply because I had won the fight – he had been a very good swordsman, and I had met him exactly where he wanted to meet me, relying on swordplay. My speed and technique had proven superior, but I had been foolish to ignore my own advantages.

Despite his size, I had been the stronger thanks to my mysterious enhancements. He had abandoned his shield strike when his first attempt failed to cause me any injury, and he probably should have tried harder to apply his much larger mass against me. The next time, I might not be so fortunate. Four hundred years of muscle memory would be difficult to un-learn, nor did I wish to do so. Even so, I had to make better use of my new-found physical strength. I had put the Mighty Pig out of action with a powerful kick, not a sword-thrust. It is a common move used by fighting women of Barsoom, and I would need to be mindful of this tactic and use it more often.

And so over the days that followed I slew many trees around our clearing, with kicks high and low and with powerful, level swings of my sword. I felt guilty for taking their lives without need, but rationalized their sacrifice as necessary to my survival. Tansy found my dedication amusing.

“You know you won that fight, right?”

“I did not use all of my strengths,” I said. “The next time I might not be so fortunate.”

“It’s not the trees’ fault.”

I felt the trees’ pain as I smashed them, and it bothered me to do so. Yet I felt that I had no choice.

“I am not angry with them,” I said, initially missing the irony. “I am not truly angry with myself, either, only disappointed. I should have kicked him earlier than I did.”

“With your nice soft doeskin boots?” she asked. “If you’re going to go around kicking the shit out of people, then we need to get you some hobnails.”

“Hobnails?”

“Little pieces of metal, pounded into the sole of a boot to give it strength. Also turns them into a hell of a weapon. The doormen at taverns and brothels wear them to stomp unruly customers.”

“You can find me such things?”

“If no one has any,” Tansy said, “I’m sure Gendry could pound some out for you. Every blacksmith makes nails; it’s a simple little piece of metal.”

By the next morning, I was practicing knocking down trees with my new hobnailed boots. They felt a little odd when I walked; I preferred to wear no shoes at all, but that was a sign of my privilege. The stone and gravel of the vast deserts of Barsoom easily destroy one’s feet, and only those of the upper classes can allow their feet to live naturally, without coverings. 

* * *

While I slaughtered defenseless trees, Tansy showed a great deal of energy as well, throwing herself into our preparations for the attack on Harrenhal. The children in the camp had a small play area filled with sand, in which they happily dug holes and built castles. Tansy constructed a similar sand box on a table within the cave complex, and built a model of Harrenhal upon it using blocks of wood for the buildings and walls. With little figures made of sticks she marked all of the likely guard posts, and explained which towers and buildings remained serviceable and which had been long burned out.

Everyone studied the model for hours, and we played out the assault many times by moving the little figures. Ned assigned specific roles to every member of the assault force, and I approved.

I found her model fascinating, and Tansy showed me where she had lived and played as a child. I noted the high walls and concentric rings of defenses; Harrenhal had been built to withstand attack by a ground-based enemy, one without artillery or other high-yield weapons. It had also been built without regard to the third dimension, yet Tansy noted many destroyed or damaged buildings well within its perimeter.

“What happened to Harrenhal?” I asked her.

“Dragons,” she said. “King Harren refused to yield to Aegon the Conqueror, who melted the castle with his great dragon, Balerion the Dread.”

“A dragon?”

“A great winged beast, scaly like a reptile and breathing fire. You don’t have them in your make-believe kingdom?”

“My kingdom is real,” I said. “I am less convinced of these mythical beasts.”

A flying animal, breathing fire hot enough to melt stone? Stone can be melted fairly easily, of course, but at temperatures as hot as those of cutting torches used to shape metal – technology these people clearly did not have. How would a living being contain such heat, much less generate it? What could it possibly use for fuel?

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe that you are accurately relaying what you have been told. I am less sure that what you were told is itself accurate.”

“You’ll see for yourself,” she said. “Something melted the stones used to build the towers and walls. After they were in place, too – you can see where the dragonfire cut across different pieces of stone.”

My skepticism annoyed her.

“I do not doubt you,” I said, stroking her upper arm. “I merely prefer to see proof before accepting old stories.”

“There’s a long history of dragons in Westeros. That’s how Aegon conquered all seven kingdoms.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. The old kings kept their skulls in their throne room.”

“They are used as weapons of war?”

“They were,” she said. “Now they’re dead.”

“All of them?”

“So they say. If Mad King Aerys had had a dragon, surely he would have used it.”

“The king overthrown in the rebellion?”

“That’s him.”

“So they are all dead,” I said. “That is why Thoros said Azor Ahai would waken dragons.”

“I guess so. You planning to wake them up?”

“I did not even know what he meant by dragons.” 

* * *

We studied many alternative assault plans, as we still did not know exactly which entrance we would find unguarded. If necessary, I would scale the walls near a gate, slaughter its guards and cut the heavy ropes that held the gate closed. Ned explained how these worked and I grasped the picture in his mind.

Still, we would need more information.

“They will surely have patrols outside the walls,” I told Ned after one session at the sand table. “I will capture a soldier from one and question him.”

“That’s quite risky, and he might not even talk.”

“I am very sneaky,” I said. “And very persuasive.”

Reluctantly, he assented to my plan. I did not tell him that I would use my telepathy both to find an isolated soldier and to question him once he was in my hands.

The wagon train remained a weak point of the plan, but I saw no way to do without it if the raid were to net the supplies Ned said the Brotherhood needed. Otherwise our attack would be a simple act of terrorism, something I knew had value in such a low-intensity conflict, having fought against anti-royal rebels on my family’s behalf. But as far as I could tell the Brotherhood had no political message; while we could gain notoriety by the slaughter of the Holy Hundred, we would do nothing to advance our non-existent cause. For our actions to have purpose, we had to have the food.

As I had tried to tell Tansy, my role in this operation would likely involve my killing a great number of people. And I could not say that the people I killed were any worse than those in whose name I killed them. I had finally understood that John Carter and his comrades fighting for his “Confederacy” on Jasoom/Dirt emphasized their personal honor in order to avoid confronting the evils of their larger cause. I was not John Carter; such absolution did not come so easily to me.

I could have taken Tansy and my horses and ridden away; no one could have stopped me, and likely no one would have even tried. Some would have been glad to see the last of us. I suppose I felt grateful that Ned and Gendry showed me friendship; neither truly believed me to be a princess. They liked me for my own sake. And so in my eagerness to be liked, I would slaughter their enemies. 

* * *

We set out for Harrenhal fifteen days later, with the assault group remaining close to the wagon train in case we ran into enemies. The wagons had to travel by road, making them vulnerable, but fortunately Black Walder appeared to have removed the Lannister patrols from this part of the River Lands.

For several days we advanced toward Harrenhal along seldom-used roads, not encountering anyone. On the fourth day, when Ned said we would reach Harrenhal on the following afternoon, I was riding at the front of the column speaking with two of the scouts. Both had been among the deer hunters at the camp and knew these lands well. Tansy had remained with the main column.

I detected three riders approaching; by their thoughts, they were Lannister soldiers scouting for Black Walder Frey but were at the very limit of their assigned area. Two rode side-by-side, with the third a short distance behind. I decided to kill the first two and try to question the third, and told the scouts to remain well behind me.

My mare, excited at the chance to gallop full out, raced around a curve in the narrow track, barely wide enough to allow a wagon to move. That forced the two Lannister riders close together. Brienne had trained this horse well; she shot between the horses of the enemy scouts without hesitation and I cut them down before they could react. The man on the right died with his throat slashed open by my sword held in my right hand; I stabbed his friend in the chest with a dagger I held in my left. He held a lightweight lance in his own left hand, its butt end in a small fitting attached to his stirrup. I left the dagger in his chest and snatched the lance from his dying hand.

The third rider spun his horse away and tried to escape; my attempts to contact the horse failed as panic had taken hold. Feeling energized by the chase, my own larger and stronger horse took after him and we steadily gained ground.

As one of royal breeding, I am fully capable of using either hand, and as we drew near the fleeing scout I raised myself in the stirrups and hefted the lance I still held in my left hand. It was balanced for throwing, but probably too long for anyone of normal strength to toss accurately. When we had closed to within three horse-lengths I threw it at the fleeing rider; it took him in his lower left back, driving at least two hand-lengths’ of the shaft out of his abdomen. He sank out of the saddle and crashed onto the road, snapping the lance. He screamed in pain when he hit the ground. I pulled up next to him and dismounted.

He lay in the road on his side, panting and bleeding heavily. He had reddish-orange hair and a very round face; he looked to be very young despite the fact that his hair was already thinning.

He would die soon.

“Are you the only patrol on this road?” I demanded.

His thoughts told him to refuse to answer but he knew he was dying. He thought of his mother, and of days at home watching the sun set over a castle on a hill.

“I . . . I shouldn’t be here. I’m a singer, not a fighter.”

And he thought that no other patrols were anywhere near, and so no help would be coming. I squatted next to him and touched his face; the skin was very soft and his wispy beard looked as though it had never been shaved. He thought me beautiful, and wished that he could dance with me.

“I am sorry that I killed you,” I said. “You did not belong in the game of thrones.”

“Am I going to die?”

“Yes.”

He moaned softly, and sobbed a little. I stood, picked up the lance head lying in the road and shoved it through his heart; the noises stopped. I wiped my sword clean on his cloak, red with the gold image of the animal known as a lion sewn onto it, and checked his corpse for money; he had a great deal more than I expected. I decided to keep his sword, and slung its belt over his saddle. I left the body by the side of the road in case any of the Brotherhood wanted his boots or armor. Then I asked his horse to follow me as I walked my own horse back to retrieve my dagger from his friend’s chest.

The scouts had reached the bodies of the first two Lannister soldiers I had slain and were examining them when I rode up.

“Third one get away?” one asked.

I stared silently at him. He looked away.

“Of course not,” he said, embarrassed. “He say anything before he died?”

“This was the only patrol this far south. The others have been called away and these three should have left already.”

“Then no one will miss them for a few days yet.”

“That is correct,” I said. “Go report this information to Lord Dayne. Have him send two more scouts here. Go now.”

The scout mounted up and rode off as I directed; his fellow rifled through the other dead man’s clothing and stood up to hand a small bag of coins and a wooden bottle to me.

“Thank you,” I said. I kept the money and opened the bottle’s stopper to sniff it.

“Blackberry wine,” the scout said. “I tried some. It’s quite good.”

I drank it down and tossed the bottle into the trees. The scout was right; it was very good. The dark-haired man I had killed with my dagger lay sprawled on his back, the weapon lodged deeply in his chest. I placed my foot on his shoulder and pulled it free, and used his cloak to clean it. He also had a few coins and a stick of dried meat, both of which I kept.

“Take these horses back to Thoros,” I told the remaining scout. “Tell him to add them to the pack train.”

“Yes, Princess,” he said. His thoughts showed him somewhat in awe of what I had done to the Lannisters. 

* * *

On the next morning we veered off the road along a narrow, overgrown track. One of the Brotherhood men had lived here in peacetime, and knew of an isolated clearing in the heavy forests south of Harrenhal where the pack train’s animals could graze. We made a camp without fires and ate a meal of cold meat and cheese, and then I sat cross-legged in the darkness with Tansy, Ned, Gendry and Thoros to discuss our final moves.

“I will go in the morning and capture a Holy Hundred soldier. If that yields the information we need, we will attack tomorrow night.”

“I’m coming with you,” Tansy said.

“I would have you remain here.”

“I know how to capture one of them,” she said, “without your twisting his head off.”

“How?” Thoros asked.

“I’m a woman,” Tansy said. “Trust me in this.”

The men did not like it, but I agreed to follow Tansy’s plan and that ended their dissension. My sister and I set out early in the morning as planned and at Tansy’s direction we took up a hidden position in a small cluster of trees along the road between the castle Harrenhal and the small nearby town called Harrentown. Truly, these people had little imagination. Most of Harrentown had been burned by a passing army, but a brothel operated amid the wreckage and a little farm market had been established.

Some people and wagons passed, and once a small group of warriors that we took to be members of the Holy Hundred by their clothing, armor and shields, but there were too many. Finally, a lone Holy Hundred warrior came up the road from the town, on foot and walking his horse. Like the others, he wore dark blue livery with white trim and a stylized animal called a Nittany Lion. His thoughts showed that he was somewhat drunk. We stepped into the road side-by-side, as Tansy had planned.

The man stopped and looked at us suspiciously.

“What do you want?”

“We need your help,” Tansy said in a whining voice I had not heard from her before. “Our horses ran away and we’re lost and scared and . . . and . . .”

She began to sniffle as though she would soon cry. I stood quietly next to her, looking at my feet and doing my best to appear small and harmless. I knew we were beautiful, at least by the standards of Barsoom and of John Carter’s Dirt. I had been bred for beauty, after all, and Tansy had become stunning after weeks of regular meals, exercise and bathing. Tansy believed that either the knights’ code of honor or the hope of a sexual reward would mean that no man could refuse to help two vulnerable, beautiful women or even question their presence in the middle of an empty forest.

This one did.

“What are you two doing out here stopping travelers?” he demanded. “Do you have more friends in the woods?”

He reached for his sword. I sent a quick, strong command to his horse to rear and the animal obeyed. When the man turned to bring his mount under control, I moved across the interval between us in two quick strides. With my right hand I reached behind my back to where I had moved one of my daggers in its sheath; with my left I clamped down on the wrist of his sword arm. I placed the dagger to his throat.

“We need no assistance,” I said in a soft voice. “Remain calm and do not speak.”

He nodded. Tansy joined us, bringing my sword. I handed her my cloak, his sword and a dagger he wore on his belt. I pushed him into the forest, taking him far enough from the road so that we could not be seen or heard. I told his horse to follow, and telepathically called for our horses to join us.

When we reached a likely spot, Tansy took over holding the dagger and I unwound a length of rope I had wrapped around my waist. I tied him securely to a tree in a standing position, then stood back to observe our prisoner. Tansy joined me.

“You are breaking the laws of gods and men,” he spat.

“The first do not exist, so neither do their laws,” I replied. “And the laws of the second are hard to find in these lands.”

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it and let the Stranger do his will.”

“I have no idea what that means,” I said, “nor do I care. I will ask questions. You will answer them.”

“And if I don’t?”

“She’ll hurt you,” Tansy answered.

“My faith is my armor,” he said. “You bare-breasted bitches cannot hurt me.”

That word again. And we were heavily-covered by the standards of Barsoom. Even the tops of our breasts and the cleavage between them offended his gods.

I asked questions about the Holy Hundred, their defense of Harrenhal and their routine activities. As he’d promised, he answered only with insults. His thoughts told another story, confirming Squire Peck’s information that 86 of them were present with no other troops, though four were currently too sick to serve. With his return all would be present in the castle.

They did not patrol outside the walls. They instead spent a great deal of their time parading their horses across the drill yard inside the castle in intricate patterns. They had regular prayers, and I asked when these occurred. He scoffed.

“Heathen bitch. You know nothing of the Faith?”

“No,” I said. “Nor do I care to. Do you all gather for prayers?”

“If you weren’t damned to the seven hells, you would know that.”

His thoughts said that they prayed in small groups.

“When,” I asked, “do you all gather together?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Yes. When do you all gather together?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

We of Barsoom can actually do that, but he intended it as an insult. Yet I picked up a sliver of a thought.

“Tell me about ‘Happy Valley.’”

“How do you know about that?”

He was suddenly frightened. He was willing to let us kill him, but this was a grave secret he was determined to protect. And by trying not to think of his secret, he of course thought of it.

“You have sex,” I asked, somewhat bewildered, “with young boys?”

“I knew it!” Tansy interjected.

“Your entire Holy Hundred is made up of men who prefer sex with boys?”

“All men sin,” he said. “We ask the Father to forgive us. We fight to earn his forgiveness.”

“And still you keep buggering children,” Tansy said with some anger.

I knew from the reaction many in the camp had to Tansy and I sharing our sleeping furs that sex between people of the same gender carried a terrible stigma here even though many noble women shared their bed with a friend. Those who did have sex with a partner of the same gender, particularly men, were often killed in hideous ways including burning alive. We have no such barrier on Barsoom; our people find love where they will and I had had female lovers many times.

An even greater revulsion applies to those who have sex with children. There is no real counterpart on Barsoom, as we mature so quickly that sex between adults and children rarely occurs. The scientist in me does not allow me to say “never,” but I could not recall hearing of such a thing. I already knew that sex had a very different emotional meaning for these people because of its intricate ties to reproduction. Yet another paper I would present if I ever returned to Helium. Instead I focused on the inquiry at hand.

“Tell me about Happy Valley,” I repeated.

“No.”

But of course, he did. His unspoken answer told of a mythical place where men like him could have sex with boys at will without fear of punishment or even harsh words. Large crowds even cheered them in this myth. Their actual Happy Valley was a regular mass sex event, for which they had already brought a number of boys from Harrentown as well as some adult male whores. I explained it to Tansy while he looked on with an open mouth and wide eyes.

“Perverts,” she said, in a hushed voice. “A holy order of perverts holding their perverted holy orgies.”

“Demon-eyed sorceress!” he said, wondering if I were indeed a demon. “How can you know that? But it’s none of your concern. We do the work of the Seven.”

“And fuck little boys,” Tansy interjected. “Can we kill him now?”

“Not yet,” I said. “When is the next Happy Valley?”

“Go to the seven hells.”

“There are no gods,” I said, “therefore there are none of their hells, only those made by Man. Their event is tomorrow night. Twenty of them will be on watch, the rest in the baths. Do you know where those are?”

“Yes,” Tansy said, “and I know how to get into them secretly.”

“Good. We are done with him.”

Tansy made to stab him with the dagger which still lay in her hand. I held her back.

“No,” I said, “you are not a killer. This is my work.”

John Carter would have left him tied where he stood. I am not John Carter.

“I could have left you here to be found by someone passing by,” I told him. “You should not have called me ‘bitch’.”

I rammed the man’s dagger through his heart and into the tree, retrieved the rope and left the holy warrior pinned there to die. Once again, I freed his horse but this time I told it to follow us so that it could join our pack train and so its return to Harrenhal alone would not alarm the Holy Hundred. We kept his sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris encounters the evil being known as "cat."


	14. Chapter Five (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter acquires a horse.

Chapter Five (John Carter)

The feasting would resume at noon, a propitious moment according to the Dothraki. That left me some hours before my presence would be expected, so I dispatched one of my young household warriors to summon Illyrio, and in the meantime decided to see my new herd of horses.

Ko Jhaqo had been on his way to pay me his respects when he encountered me leaving the tent along with Belwas and Irri, who knew a great deal about horses considering her gender. I fell in step alongside my new _ko_ and we talked of the various breeds kept by the Dothraki.

Most Dothraki warriors, Jhaqo explained, rode small hardy horses little larger than ponies. Each adult warrior was expected to maintain his horse, a remount and a pack animal. Those in leadership positions rode larger horses, so they could easily be seen, and the quality of a leader’s mount reflected his status. Almost all horses ridden to war were geldings, allowing the Dothraki to form tight, knee-to-knee formations that stallions would never tolerate. I nodded with approval; we had done the same in Virginia’s Black Horse Cavalry.

In addition to the horses maintained for war, a khalasar required thousands more as pack animals. Some of these were obtained in raids on settled folk or had been handed over as tribute, while others were bred by the Dothraki. Stolen horses also helped diversify Dothraki breeding, and the men who oversaw the herds – though not of course the herders themselves, who were often slaves – had status equal to the doughtiest warriors.

When we arrived at the khal’s pens, the herders – forewarned of my coming by another young household warrior - had captured a half-dozen animals for my inspection. One in particular caught all of our eyes.

“My khal,” Irri breathed. “It is the silver mare.”

“Of the prophecy?” I asked.

“You know of the prophecy?” Jhaqo asked in turn. “Your prophecy?”

“That I am the Stallion Who Mounts the World?”

“Yes,” he said. “And the silver mare would bear him. Khal Drogo bred this mare himself, and reserved her for his new khaleesi, who would be the silver mare of prophecy.”

“Try her,” I told Irri.

“Truly?” the girl asked. “I am not worthy, my khal.”

“It is known,” Jhaqo said. “A slave is not worthy of such an animal.”

“She will instruct the khaleesi to ride,” I said. “She must know the horse in order to do so.”

“That is different,” he allowed. “Mount the horse, girl.”

Irri slid gracefully up onto the mare, bareback, and took her through her paces while we watched. The girl was a fine rider, I had to silently admit, with skill if not status worthy of her mount.

“You will choose a horse, John Carter?” Jhaqo asked as she dismounted. “And ride?”

I knew without accessing his thoughts that he proposed another test of my fitness to lead the Dothraki. I nodded.

“Bring forth the finest horses of the khal’s string,” Jhaqo told the horse master, an older man named Sajo. Sajo did not know what to make of me and spoke mostly in grunts to avoid committing himself.

“What of this horse?” I asked, indicating a large, night-black gelding. Rarely had I seen such a beautiful animal. It surprised me that he had been gelded and not maintained as a stud.

“Drogo’s horse,” Sajo explained. “He burns with his khal.”

It disappointed me that such a fine animal would be slaughtered simply out of superstition, but I knew better than to speak against tradition. Meanwhile four youths, including the two I had exiled to the horse pens, brought the remaining four horses before us and lined them up. All were fine animals, but a large bay stood out. He likewise was a gelding, with a thick black mane sharply contrasting with his flawless chestnut coat. I gestured to his holder to bring him close; the horse objected and began to drag the boy away. I leapt the split-rail fence and rushed to the horse, calming him with my thoughts and reaching out toward him.

The horse warily stepped towards me, and nuzzled my hand. When he was re-assured, I swung easily onto his bare back. At my urging, he took off and quickly reached a full gallop. We raced along the same course Irri had followed, and returned. I shouted with joy, feeling at one with my mount as I had not since I rode with the Indians in the Southwest. Some glimmer of memory spoke of other red people in my past, but I could not hold on to it.

I hopped off the horse when we reached Sajo, tossing the reins toward one of the herders who flinched away and let them hit the ground. My new horse shied, but I again calmed him and patted his neck.

“What is his name?” I asked Sajo.

“Demon,” he said. “Never ridden. Not even the khal.”

“I am your khal,” I said. “And this is my horse. Remember these things.”

“A demon on a demon,” one of the exiles whispered. I only heard him in his thoughts, but it was enough.

“Repeat that,” I said. “Aloud.”

“You do not command me,” he said.

I strode over and punched him in the face, not holding back my great strength. He flew backward several feet and was dead before he met the manure-covered ground.

“I am your khal,” I said. “And you my khalasar. It is known.”

“It is known,” Irri instantly repeated. The others followed her example.

* * *

I rode Demon to see my new mansion, along with Irri on a fine mare I had her choose from the khal’s string for her personal use. Jhaqo returned to his khas, the division he led. I knew the story of my horse-taming prowess would spread, as I intended. So would the story of my killing the insubordinate herder. I sent one of the youths to command Mormont to join me at the mansion.

The mansion indeed came close to Illyrio’s in terms of opulence, and had a staff of over fifty led by a steward named Vyros, a cousin of Illyrio. He bowed as he introduced himself, assessing my abilities to detect his graft. A small and thin man with oily black hair, he had stolen a great deal from Drogo, who had either not noticed or not cared.

“How may I best serve you?” he asked. “And how do you wish to be addressed? My lord? My khal?”

“‘My lord’ will do,” I said. “And your thieving ways will end immediately, or I will kill you.”

“Thieving? My lord, I protest.”

“You charge Drogo for 102 servants, yet there are less than fifty actually on this site. You purchase full allotments of rich foods even when Drogo is hundreds of miles away, and then sell them. Horses. Clothing. Building materials. Need I continue?”

“I . . . my lord, who has told you such lies?”

“You have,” I said. “It is impossible to lie to me.”

“It is known,” Irri added, knowing no such thing.

“You are of Illyrio’s family, and he is my friend. Were you not, I would kill you now. Should you thieve again, your status will not save you. Am I clear?”

“You are clear, my lord.”

“Excellent,” I said. “Has Illyrio arrived?”

“He awaits you in the library.”

“Drogo had a library? I didn’t think he could read.”

“He lacked that achievement, my lord, but it amused him to own a great many books.”

Drogo indeed had an impressive library, with bookshelves stretching from the floor to the raised ceiling, and mobile ladders on rollers to allow access. A swift glance showed their spines to be labelled in many languages, and as best as I could tell they had been organized by size and color rather than subject, author or title. Illyrio awaited at a large marble table in the center, accompanied by a heavyset man dressed as a sailor.

“Illyrio,” I greeted him, gesturing for both to remain seated as I took a chair facing them. Mormont sat on my left while Irri stood immediately behind me and to my right. “And Lord Varys, a pleasure to meet you.”

I had discomfited Varys, but he recovered swiftly. I could not penetrate his thoughts.

“Khal John,” he said, nodding to me. “A pleasure as well. Certainly moreso than Prince Viserys.”

“I understand that you know my advisor, Ser Jorah Mormont.”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“You haven’t? Early this morning you paid him two hundred gold dragons, and promised a royal pardon that would allow his return to Westeros, all in exchange for his informing you of my movements in the interior and those of Princess Daenerys.”

All three men stared at me, unable to speak. Only Irri retained her wits.

“No one can lie to the Stallion Who Mounts the World,” she said. “It is known.”

“It is known,” I agreed. “And should either of you lie to me again, it will mean your death. A slow, agonizing death by impalement. That is also known.”

“It is known,” Irri repeated. I intended for her to head my princess’ household, but I would have to find a way to keep her nearby to repeat her three words during meetings.

“Now that we are clear on this,” I said, “tell me of the political situation in Westeros. The truth, please, not the rubbish Illyrio spun for Viserys.”

“King Robert heads North,” Varys said, only slightly flustered. “The Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, appears to have been poisoned. He will prevail on his oldest friend, Lord Eddard Stark, to assume the position.”

“Hand?” I prompted.

“The head of what passes for their government,” Illyrio said. “A powerful post under a lackwit king.”

“Robert is no lackwit,” Varys said. “Merely distracted, by wine and women. Much wine and many women, not including his wife.”

He intended this to have deep meaning, but I couldn’t obtain a clear view of his mind and Illyrio had no idea of what his friend spoke.

“Explain,” I said. “He is estranged from his wife?”

“Not in public,” Varys said. “Leading her to seek comfort elsewhere.”

Illyrio made a silent connection, and I followed it.

“The royal children are not royal.”

“That was Jon Arryn’s conclusion,” Varys said. “And then he died.”

“By your hand?”

“No. The time’s not ripe yet.”

“You expect civil war.”

“I do,” Varys said. “I didn’t murder Lord Arryn, but someone did, someone wishing to sow chaos. It would be best if you could place the Princess Daenerys on the Iron Throne before that war becomes general.”

“Don’t be mistaken,” I said. “Princess Daenerys will be my wife, my khaleesi, my queen. She will not rule in Westeros. I will be your sovereign, by right of conquest.

“I am aware that the two of you hoped to serve as puppet-masters and rule through the Targaryen children. And that you believe you have one more pretender in reserve. That’s not how this game is going to be played. You may have roles under my direction, and you may provide counsel. But do not be deluded into thinking that it will be you providing direction to the realm.”

“You have a plan?” Varys asked. “A vision of your own, for the realm?”

“Illyrio hopes to modernize the economy,” I said. “Banking, credit, accounting. I’ve agreed to this, and to institutionalize his corruption. We will go much deeper than that. We will break the feudal system, replacing it with a strong central ruler with a standing army and a true government that extends over both sides of your Narrow Sea.”

“And the people?”

“No longer will they be damned to poverty by birth,” I said, though I knew not when I had witnessed such. “Those born free will have education, and the opportunity for meaningful work. The talented will rise, no matter what their origin. The indolent will sink.”

“Slavery,” Varys said, “has not been legal in Westeros for centuries.”

“Then every man is born free, is he not?” I said. “You may not call it slavery, but the lords own your people all the same. I aim to end that.”

“The nobility will not stand for such.”

“I am quite sure,” I said, “that an arakh hews through a neck just as swiftly, be it peasant or noble.

“Lord Varys,” I went on, “Illyrio tells me that you seek what is best for the realm, for its people. The wheel turns, putting one family on top, then another, crushing the people beneath. I’m not of any of those noble families, and I plan to break the damned wheel, to shatter it into pieces. Your Starks and Lannisters and whoever else can earn their place, if they’re able, but they’ll have none of it for their exalted birth.”

“I trust Illyrio,” Varys said. “And he trusts you. So I’ll assist in this endeavor.”

“And will cease attempting to subvert my advisors.”

“As you say. Have you planned your first move?”

“I’ll continue to speak plainly,” I said. “Your plan to use Viserys and the Dothraki was ridiculous. An exercise in vanity and stupidity. From a master of politics, I would expect better, and that forces me to question your motives. You had to know that this plan would not work. But I’ll save that for another time.

“The Dothraki are impressive individual fighters. And likely they make for excellent light cavalry. I’ll know more of their abilities when I’ve taken them into battle. But they can’t occupy conquered lands, they can’t enforce the will of the king, and they can’t capture fortified places. They’re unlikely to defeat disciplined troops whether on foot or horse. And there simply aren’t enough of them. They are a start on the conquest, no more.”

Illyrio had brought a number of maps, as I had requested, and I rolled out one showing the western coast of Essos, the continent on which we now stood.

“My generals advise waiting thirty days before we head east to Vaes Dothrak, to allow grass to grow along the march route as the dry season ends. Such a massive collection of people and animals consumes a massive quantity of food and fodder. Daenerys must be presented to the dosh khaleen, the old widows of dead khals. There will also be a meeting of khals, what’s called the Khalar Vezhven. Usually they plan their next round of raids. This time, they will acknowledge the Stallion Who Will Mount the World.

“Before we ride to Vaes Dothrak, I mean to undertake and complete a brief campaign, to cement my position as khal and allow me to see them in action. We lack the ability to take cities, and I would rather not simply engage in wanton destruction.”

Mormont stood and leaned over the map, then picked up a stylus and tapped it on a region south of Pentos.

“The Disputed Lands,” he said. “Currently, sellsword companies are fighting a proxy war over them, in the name of Myr and Tyrosh.”

He was eager to show his worth, and unsure whether I would kill him for his attempted treason. I was unsure of his advice.

“After the time needed to ride there,” I said, “we would have, perhaps, ten days to campaign before riding to Vaes Dothrak. Though surely we could stretch that a little longer if necessary, that’s still not enough time to secure the territory. And we have no means to garrison it.”

“We wouldn’t be after the territory, not yet,” he said. “The sellsword companies carry their wealth with them. Some of them carry a great deal.”

“So we overrun one or two of them and take their gold.” I sat back down and thought. It was not a bad idea. “Blood the Dothraki, let them take prisoners and loot the corpses.”

“The Dothraki care nothing for money,” Mormont said. “Battle will be enough reward. And later, the land itself could be valuable to our cause.”

I noted the emphasis on _our_ cause, and nodded to him to continue.

“As you’ve said, we need balanced arms. Infantry and a siege train, perhaps trained heavy cavalry. The lands are a waste now, as anyone foolish enough to farm there ends up raped, murdered or worse. I’ve fought there. The soil is good and there are plentiful rains. They could be prosperous farmland under secure rule. That’s why they’re disputed.”

“Land which could be offered to induce the landless to enlist,” I said. I held a deep confidence, as I steadily began to recall my life in Virginia, in the strength of the yeoman farmer as the backbone of a free society. A free society of white men, under a benevolent and wise ruler. The Confederacy had collapsed because it listened to the voices of weak men. I would not repeat that mistake.

“If I might,” Varys interjected. I nodded. “It’s somewhat traditional for the Dothraki to threaten to sack Myr, and thereby gain tribute. You’ll be riding right past the city gates on your way to the Disputed Lands.”

“More gold,” I said, “and eventually more soldiers bought with that gold.”

“Just so.”

“All right then,” I said, rising and rolling up the maps to take with me. “I have a day-long feast to attend, gentlemen. And I believe that we have the outlines of a plan of campaign. Let me remind you, Lord Varys, of my promise to kill you should you attempt to undermine me again. You did not know me, and so I will let this one instance pass. There will not be another.”

“There will not.”

“On the contrary, you shall now be a conduit of information from Westeros to me. And you shall only transmit to King Robert’s court what information I wish them to possess. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Such was always my intention.”

“No doubt,” I said, fully doubting him. “Illyrio? Any wisdom to impart?”

“When Ser Jorah says that the Dothraki care nothing for money,” my fat friend said, “he means exactly that. They’ll happily toss the gold you gain into the nearest river to see it sparkle. I can arrange for safe transport and storage, until it’s needed.”

“Please do so,” I said. “And steal no more than your agreed portion.”

“It’s simply a fee, my friend.”

“All bankers call their thieving a ‘fee,’ Illyrio. I may have forgotten much of my past, but I haven’t forgotten the perfidy of the money-changers.”

That led to another thought.

“How much gold,” I asked, “are you holding for Drogo?”

“A great deal,” Illyrio admitted. “Perhaps the equivalent of a hundred thousand Pentoshi towers.”

“How many Unsullied does that represent?”

“A thousand,” Illyrio said. “Delivered where you will.”

“Your usual bank can make that transaction,” I asked, “without our having to carry gold across the continent?”

“They can.” Illyrio was unhappy at losing charge of Drogo’s gold.

“Wait until I return from the south,” I said. “And we see how much additional cash we can extort.”

I paused before departing.

“If the Dothraki care nothing for money,” I asked. “Where is the food and drink coming from?”

“Pentos,” Illyrio said. “It’s part of the tribute the city pays for Drogo’s forbearance. That’s how most of the khalasars sustain themselves.”

“I’ve seen individual Dothraki in the markets.”

“They ask the merchant for a gift,” he explained. “Sometimes they give a gift in return.”

* * *

“My lord,” Mormont said as we mounted outside. “I beg your forgiveness. It seemed a trifle, something that would not harm you, yet allow me a path home.”

“You made a serious error, Mormont,” I said. “I have great need of you, else you would be a head shorter already. Do not disappoint me again.”

“How did you know?” he asked.

“I’ll let you puzzle over that,” I said. “And let it serve as a reminder that I am not to be trifled with, whatever sound reasons you think you might have.”

“It is known,” Irri chimed in, riding behind us.

We returned our horses to Sajo, and I walked to my tent to leave my roll of maps. Inside another young Dothraki woman waited alongside Calye. She shared Irri’s dark hair and copper skin, and though short was full-breasted and broad-hipped. Irri introduced her as Jhiqui. Calye clearly did not like her, but the woman had dyed my bedwarmer’s hair as I had requested. Somewhere Calye had also found a sword, which she wore slung over her shoulder, along with a black skirt and a close-fitting black leather vest.

“I’m your . . . your personal guard,” she said. “Me, and Belwas.”

I should have forbidden this foolishness on the spot, but I had no inkling where this urge to become a warrior woman would end. In the years I knew her, Calye never ceased to be a whore, only concerned for her own advantage and willing to betray anyone, even me, to gain it. Knowing that, I still would not have wished her fate on her, but I as yet knew nothing of Dejah Thoris’ murderous henchwoman Beth Cassel.

“You can ride?” I asked her instead.

“No,” she answered, truthfully. “Not a horse, anyway.”

Irri and Jhiqui instantly caught the sexual reference, but said nothing. Perhaps it was best that they understood from the beginning that their khal had needs.

“Irri will teach you,” I said. “And you will obey her.”

“When she’s teaching?” Calye asked. “Or in all things?”

“When she is teaching,” I said, “You will obey Irri. You will obey me in all things.”

“Always, my khal.” She meant it ironically, but I chose not to slap her.

With my tiny household, I walked to the arena for another day of feasting, drinking and fighting. To honor Drogo on his way to the Night Lands, slaves fought one another to the death, chiefly unskilled men and women given weapons and prodded forward with whips. A thin, middle-aged woman awkwardly hacked at a crying fat man with a sword, even as a younger woman shoved a spear through her back. The Dothraki thought the sight hilarious. I was glad that Daenerys was not present to witness the ritual.

I ate and drank with my leading _ko_ s, and had the chance to become more familiar with my lesser generals. Drogo had believed in allowing his followers to sort out their own hierarchy, leading to the sort of chaos that ruled much of Dothraki society. The khalasar, said to be the largest of the Dothraki hordes, numbered about 40,000 fighting men, not counting women, children, slaves, the elderly or camp followers. Those swelled the total to well over 100,000 people.

Jhaqo’s _khas_ , as they called the divisions of a khalasar, numbered about half of the total. Pono led another 10,000. The remaining 10,000 were divided among fourteen other minor kos, none leading more than 1,500 riders.

“How,” I asked Pono, “did Drogo command sixteen different khas in battle?”

“What do you mean?” he returned. “He led us, we followed.”

A few more questions gave me a clearer picture. Drogo, like his father before him, employed no strategy or tactics. Since his khalasar was larger than any other, he massed his riders, hefted his arakh and led them in a mass charge that overwhelmed the enemy through sheer weight of numbers. Survivors were either incorporated into his own khalasar, enslaved as Irri and Jhiqui had been, or massacred, all depending on Drogo’s mood at the moment.

“Why should it be any different?” Jhaqo asked. “There are always more of us than there are of them.”

“And when there are more of them?”

“But there are not more of them.”

“Humor your khal,” I said. “If there are more of them?”

“Then we die. Gloriously.”

Drogo had been an idiot. I could not say this aloud at his funeral, but I would have to correct his stupidity were I to mount the world. The greatest general who ever drew breath, Robert E. Lee, organized the exalted Army of Northern Virginia into three corps. Neither Jhaqo nor Pono struck me as a Stonewall or even my old commander Fitzhugh Lee, but I would do the same.

* * *

I spent that night in my new mansion. In two days’ time I was to marry Princess Daenerys in a Dothraki wedding. Kono and Jhaqo presented me with a new set of clothing they believed more suitable than that I had taken from Ruzgar and his friends. These were finely made, and my generals’ thoughts showed the gift to be sincere; I was alert to attempts to use my cultural ignorance to expose me to ridicule and undermine my authority.

I tried them on in my chambers, and had just finished carefully putting the tunic and trousers away when Calye entered. Her absurd costume had left her badly sunburned on her face, neck and the center of her bosom.

“John,” she said, taking my hand in both of her small ones. “You need to listen to me.”

“I’m always listening.”

“No, you don’t . . . you don’t listen. And this time, you need to. After you marry the princess, you’ll bed her. You can’t fuck her like she’s a ten-copper whore.”

“You mean like I do with you.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. She’s . . . she’s little and soft and a virgin. You pound her like a cook with a day-old steak and she’ll hate you for her entire life.”

“A woman’s place is under a man and submissive.”

She tossed both hands into the air and made an inarticulate sound.

“You’re going to wreck all of our futures. Just, just listen. You have to kiss her, gently. Kiss her . . . her tits. Lick them, suck them. Gently. And don’t just ram it into her. Use your fingers first, your tongue. Prepare her, get her wet and eager.”

I could tell from her thoughts that saying these things cost Calye a great deal; she was extremely jealous of Daenerys.

“That’s not how it’s done in Virginia,” I said. “A Virginia woman knows her duty.”

“And we’re not . . . we’re not in Virginia, are we? Have you let Doreah teach you a damned thing?”

“Illyrio bought Doreah to teach Daenerys,” I said. “I should get rid of her, she’ll only teach her to act like a whore, not a wife.”

“She’s here . . . she’s here to teach the princess to please you. And you to please the princess.”

Calye despised Doreah, jealous of her beauty and unable to match her quick, insulting wit. Every word praising the blonde whore pained my bedwarmer.

“I know how to make love to a woman.”

“You know how to stick your . . . your cock into a woman,” Calye said. “Dogs know how to fuck better than you do.”

“You enjoyed it.”

“They beat me in that pillow house. The turned me over and fucked me in . . . in, in the ass. That was my specialty. Getting fucked in the ass without showing my face. Do you know what that feels like?”

“So making love to me is better than anal rape.”

“Barely.” She slapped herself on the side of the head. “You have a perfect body! The face of a temple god statue. Women cream themselves just looking at you. You’ve got to put some effort into pleasing the princess.”

“I know how to please a woman.” 

“Show me. Show me right now. Make me come. You never have besides that one time, you know.”

She thought to insult me, but I took comfort in her admission. Somewhere I had heard of this phenomenon, of female sexual excitement, and knew it to be degenerate, a sign of a woman’s moral corruption. A woman should not fall prey to sexual hysteria, but instead keep her poise even while accepting her husband’s seed. As a whore Calye was already morally corrupt, and she was not my wife, but a gentleman should not add to that burden. 

Still, I could not deny the truth in Calye’s rantings. I would have to be gentle with Daenerys, and I needed to practice on Calye first and perhaps Doreah as well. I pulled her into my lap, closed my eyes and kissed her, envisioning Daenerys. Calye broke away.

“Slowly. Don’t ram your tongue into my mouth. Easy, touch mine with yours. Let me feel how much you love me.”

“I don’t love you.”

“That’s not the point. Fuck me like you love me.”

Slowly, she guided me through the process step by step, ending with her on her back as this time I glided slowly in and out of her. I finished inside her, and this time she didn’t cry.

“That was better,” she said. “But I still didn’t come.”

“Good,” I said.

* * *

In the morning, I took Calye again in the more normal fashion. She did not cry, but she did stop me before I left the bedchamber.

“John,” she said. “You need . . . you still need to listen.”

“I’m listening,” I said, though I wasn’t fully engaged. “Speak.”

“You know how I hate Doreah,” she said. “And this . . . this comes hard for me to say. You need to summon her tonight, let her show you how to please the princess. How not to hurt her the first time. She’s . . . she’s better at this than I.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ve had her.”

“You mean you raped her. She told me.”

“She was paid,” I said. “She knew what I wanted. She didn’t want to _listen_.”

“This isn’t . . . it isn’t about what you want,” Calye said. “It’s about the princess. What she doesn’t even know that she wants. You can’t . . . you can’t hurt her. Please, summon Doreah.”

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“We have,” she admitted. “And you paid no attention. Summon Doreah. Please.”

“I’ll consider it.”

* * *

On this third day we burned Drogo’s body when the sun reached noon. His bloodriders and his horse burned with him, all five bodies oriented toward the sacred mountain of the Dothraki far to the east. As I had promised, I silently asked Qotho’s horse god to receive him in the Night Lands.

The feasting and drinking reached an even greater frenzy, with Dothraki men taking their women out in the open, much like animals. It shocked me, while at the same time it did not surprise me. Can one truly expect civilized behavior from a debased race?

Afterwards I dined alone with Illyrio.

“How long,” he asked, “will you be gone?”

“Long enough to be accepted as khal,” I said. “I need to lead them in battle. Clearly successful battle. I need acceptance of my khaleesi, and of my fulfillment of their prophecy.”

“And then?”

“I’ll bring the horde back here to force the submission of Pentos and Myr. We’ll use their resources to build ships and conscript troops. I would prefer to buy all of the Unsullied, but if that’s not possible, we’ll ride to Astapor and have a reasoned discussion with their owners.”

“You said the Dothraki can’t take cities.”

“This is true, but they certainly can blockade them and devastate the surrounding countryside.”

Illyrio sighed.

“That is not the plan,” he said. “The plan is to conquer Westeros.”

“Essos is wealthier,” I said. “Why not take both?”

“You can do this?”

“I don’t know,” I said, truthfully. “From what you’ve told me, and from what I’ve learned from Mormont, Pono and Jhaqo, Essos is no better organized in military terms than Westeros is in financial terms. So I believe that with better methods, yes, I can weld these states together under one rule.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“The best strategy is simple. All of your people need to understand what you’re trying to do. Complicated plans sound wonderful in a story. It doesn’t work that way in reality.”

“You speak as though you know this at first hand.”

“I can’t tell you why,” I said, “but I believe that I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter marries his princess. His new princess, not the forgotten one.


	15. Chapter Ten (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trifle not with the fury of Martian women.

Chapter Ten (Dejah Thoris)

We rode back to where the Brotherhood’s fighters awaited us much deeper in the forest. The men gathered around us, grouped into their assigned teams. I described what we had learned, with Tansy clarifying details. I did not specify how I had learned these things, and they assumed that I had tortured the prisoner. I let them believe that; most were not bothered and the others forgot any disquiet when I told them of Happy Valley. They muttered angrily. Those among them who had been reluctant to undertake what was, in truth, an attack of murder and terror now became enthusiastic at the prospect of slaughtering the Holy Hundred.

It struck me that had we not captured the Holy Hundred soldier and forced him to divulge his secrets, we could not have invented a story better suited to giving our fighters justification for our actions. My comrades now seemed much more at ease with their mission, but this new knowledge did not ease my own qualms. I knew that I would have killed these strangers had they instead engaged in quiet prayer and good works for the poor. I shook my head sharply as though that would clear my mind, and focused on the upcoming assault.

Tansy reminded us about the huge drain that emptied the bathhouse of Harrenhal; as a child, she and the castle’s other children had climbed up and down it despite the dangers of a sudden outrush of waste water. It had been included in her model, but some of the men still expressed disbelief at the size of the drain. She explained that the baths of Harrenhal were large enough for one to swim across. And the bathhouse contained seven such pools.

“We will infiltrate through the baths,” I told the fighters. “And we will kill everyone we find within. Spare any children. When that is complete, we move to our objectives as planned.”

“What about the sick?” Tansy asked.

The tower including the solar, known as the Kingspyre, had been assigned to a group of six fighters now clustered to my left. I turned to them, unsure whether they would carry out an order to murder helpless patients.

“We will alter the plan,” I told them. “You six will take my place with the team securing the main gate. I will clear the Kingspyre Tower including the solar.”

“What will you do with the sick?” one asked.

“Do you truly wish to know?” I countered.

“No,” he said quietly, staring downward.

“This change takes me into the center of the castle instead of the walls,” I noted. “Once the fighting begins, there is no need for secrecy. Call out very loudly if you are in trouble and I will come as quickly as I can. Everyone else continue with your mission. Do not abandon your mission unless I specifically order you to do so.”

They all nodded, some disquieted that I had casually chosen to murder the sick, as though killing the healthy were somehow different. We would leave no survivors to tell who had attacked the castle; Ned believed and I agreed that the Lannister would doubt the Brotherhood capable of such a feat and would look to blame other enemies. That might provide some extra time for the wagon train to make its escape.

Preparing for nighttime battle, all of us took handfuls of wood ash we’d brought for the purpose and blackened our exposed skin. Tansy and I did so for each other, as we had a great deal of skin showing. The men stopped their own work to watch. I wore my boots, battle harness, skirt and leggings as I had for the fight with the Mighty Pig and Tansy dressed in similar fashion. She once again tied my hair into a ponytail with a bright blue ribbon. I did the same for her.

I was about to commit an act of terrorism, in the name of people I barely knew. And I had no second thoughts. I knew those would come later, in the darkest part of the night when the moons Cluros and Thuria fall out of view, the hour when the demons come.

* * *

We walked quietly through the forest, single file, with Tansy leading the way. She had us kneel under the trees when we reached a stone-lined channel; she whispered that this was the outflow from the baths. The walls of Harrenhal loomed above us; I thought the garrison careless to allow the vegetation to approach so close to the fortifications. I scanned carefully with my telepathy but the closest guards on watch were some distance away. We moved slowly and carefully up the drain and gathered under the cover of an overhang where the drain met the channel.

The end of the drain had been closed off with iron bars, with gaps between them wide enough for a child to slip between but certainly not some of our larger fighting men. Years of flowing water had eroded a great deal of the mortar holding the bars in place. I set my feet and pulled out one of the bars, laying it aside as gently as I could to avoid raising a clatter. We crept into the widened opening; this time I led with Tansy and the Lord of the Fallen Star right behind. Gendry brought up the rear. We had left two men to watch the horses at our camp and two more to watch at the drain entry, giving us forty-one fighting men in addition to we four to confront a garrison now numbering 85.

It was very dark; the night outside gave no light. We followed a dim flicker from the end of the tunnel. The sounds of laughter and music came down from above along with the faint glow. Someone was having a good time.

The drain was tall and wide enough for all of us to comfortably walk upright. It soon narrowed and turned sharply upwards; I motioned for the rest to stay put while Tansy and I climbed up the small tunnel. At its top a wooden barrier closed it off, but other tunnels led off to the sides at steep angles. Tansy pointed into one from which a good deal of light shone.

It led to an overflow, a small rounded opening at floor level sealed off by iron bars to keep an unwary bather from being sucked down the drain. Again, the gaps between them were wide enough for a child but not for an adult. From behind the bars we could see most of the baths. They were filled with naked men, some of them engaged in sex acts with their mouths while others thrust themselves into their partners from behind. This act horrified me when I realized where they were placing their sex organs; we have nothing like this on Barsoom.

As Tansy had described, a single door led into the large stone-walled room; an armed and armored guard stood there by the heavy wooden door which opened outwards. A thin man, the only other person among them still clothed, sat on a tall stool at the far end of the room, playing a stringed instrument and singing.

I tested the bars. I did not think I could pull them free, but it appeared that I could brace myself against the wall of the drain and kick them in. We slid back down the tunnel to where our friends waited.

The men once again gathered around us. I nodded to the Lord of the Fallen Star; it was as we had expected. He gave the men their final instructions.

“Understand, this is simple murder. If you’re not willing to do that, you need to stay here. The princess will break the overflow open for us and then cross the bathhouse to hold the door. The rest of us are going to kill every adult man in that room and then every Holy Hundred warrior in this castle exactly as we planned. There will be no prisoners. We will spare the innocent if they do not get in our way, but if they resist or try to raise an alarm, kill them. Man or woman. Do you understand?”

Everyone nodded, myself included.

“The princess has command during the battle. Her word is absolute. If she should fall, command passes to me, and then to Gendry. Understood?”

Again, everyone nodded. A couple of nearby fighters reached over and gently slapped my shoulders – by coincidence, a sign of respect on Barsoom as well – while the remainder looked at me and muttered “princess.” With killing to be done, I was one of them. I turned to Tansy and Gendry.

“Tansy, stay with Gendry. Gendry, if any harm comes to my sister you will answer to me. You will not like the questions.”

“As you say, Princess.”

I climbed back up the drain, followed by the Lord of the Fallen Star and a line of Brotherhood fighters. As I had planned, I braced myself at the top of the passage. I looked at Ned; he nodded. The man behind him, the large fighter named Crodell, thought, _nice ass_. I shook my head in resignation and kicked the middle iron bar, the tallest of the five blocking the overflow drain. The sound echoed in the tunnel. The bar bent but did not fall. Inside the bathhouse, several men looked around for the source of the noise. My foot hurt, and I realized that I must have a strengthened skeleton to go with my enhanced muscles else my foot would have broken. I kicked the bar again and it came free of the top of the opening but not the bottom. I grabbed it with both hands and wrestled it back and forth until it came loose in my hands. After wriggling through the opening, I stood.

One naked man had come to check on the commotion. I swung the iron bar directly into his face; he fell into a heap on the floor and began to twitch. An uproar started in several of the baths. With both hands I threw the bar at one man trying to climb out of a bath. It struck him across the chest and he collapsed into the water. He did not rise to the surface.

I drew my sword and strode firmly toward the door; I dared not run lest I slip and fall on the wet stones paving the floor. I passed two men standing in the baths with their backs turned to me, each obliviously ramming himself into a small boy. I paused to take off their heads with a pair of two-handed swings of my sword and continued on. The guard at the door came to meet me, lowering the faceguard of his helmet and drawing his sword.

My sword met his and the force of the collision drove him backwards. He slipped on the wet floor and dropped his blade while trying to regain his balance. I placed my left hand on his faceguard and slammed his helmet once, twice, three times into the stone wall.

He stopped moving and I let him fall.

I looked back, to see the Lord of the Fallen Star standing in the waist-deep water of the first bath, methodically cutting down its occupants as they tried to climb out. But he was alone. Crodell was stuck in the drain opening. I pondered whether I should return to clear the pathway or guard the door as planned. Before I had to choose, Crodell disappeared and more slender members of the Brotherhood began to pull themselves through the gap and into the bathhouse. Despite the screams, the music had not stopped.

Peering around the doorframe, I saw no one in the hallway outside the bathhouse. I pushed the door closed and leaned against it. Soon enough someone started to press on the door, then many others. I held it closed while fists hammered on the other side and the pressure grew. But then it slackened, and soon no one was trying to open it any longer.

When I opened the door, several bodies piled against it fell into the hallway. I saw red blood everywhere: on the floor, staining the baths, even on the walls and ceiling. The color struck me as very odd, one of those inappropriate thoughts that comes to one during stressful moments. Prostrate naked bodies lay on the stone paths between the baths and floated in the pink-stained waters. Tansy stood in a corner with Gendry in front of her cradling his war hammer; he apparently had used it to remove a second bar from the drain cover.

As I joined Ned, Crodell dragged the musician over to where the Lord of the Fallen Star and I stood.

“Look what I found. Tom o’ Sevens playing for the buggerers.”

“You know I was spying on them,” the musician told Ned. “I was always with the Brotherhood.” The Lord looked to me. The musician’s thoughts were clear: he was with whoever paid him.

“Kill him,” I said. He spotted my sister and screamed her name.

“Tansy! You’re with them! Tell them I am too! Don’t let this red-eyed bitch murder me.”

She walked over to join us, Gendry right behind and keeping a close watch on her. She spat in the singer’s face when she drew near.

“I trusted you, you son of a bitch,” she said. “And then you left. A week later the wolves came and killed my people: the peaches, the serving wenches, the boy who cleaned the stables. They were looking for me. By name. My father’s name. How did they know who I was and where to find me, Tom?”

From Tom’s thoughts, I understood the “peaches” to be the whores working at her brothel, called the Peach.

“Everyone knew about Sweet Tansy and the Peach. They didn’t need no help from me.”

He wore a long scarf about his neck. I used it to pull his face close to mine; Crodell kept hold of him and moved with him.

“I will know if you lie,” I said. “Did you betray my sister to the Starks?”

“Everyone knew!” he repeated, terrified at the sight of my red eyes. “They was offering gold and would’ve found out anyways.”

He spoke the truth. He had told the soldiers – from a house known as Bolton, in the service of the Starks – where to find Tansy.

“Do you wish him dead?” I asked Tansy.

“Kill him.”

“On his knees,” I told Crodell. He shifted his hands to the singer’s shoulders, forced him down and stepped away. The singer thought to escape.

“If you run, it will be worse,” I said. “Remain still and you will feel nothing.”

He leapt to his feet, but Crodell grabbed him and slung him back down. The singer fell to one knee.

“Back up,” I told Crodell, and when he was clear I took off Tom the singer’s head. Tansy’s expression never changed. I could not spare time now to tend to her, but took a moment to touch the side of her face. She looked at me and nodded slightly.

“Gendry, remain with my sister,” I said, and looked at Crodell. “Let us go.”

I gestured to Ned and we headed for the doorway, where our fighters were already assembling into their groups. About half of the fighters followed me to the right; the remainder followed Ned to the left. As we ran down the corridor, six Holy Hundred warriors charged forward to meet us; the screams from the bathhouse had been heard by a sentry who had alerted these men, the garrison’s ready reserve.

The first man held his shield much too high. Remembering my practice, I kicked the shield, knocking him down, and stabbed him between his eyes as his shield skittered away. I caught the next warrior’s sword on the down-stroke and flung it to the side, then opened his throat on the back-swing. His comrade to his right thought that provided an opening and wildly lunged forward with his sword aimed at my left breast; I blocked his weak thrust with the gauntlet on my left forearm and rammed my sword-point into the base of his throat, smashing the armored gorget, supposedly offering him protection, into his larynx. He collapsed to the floor and gasped for air.

The two warriors behind them locked their shields together; I knocked down the man on my right with a strong kick to his shield. He fell, exposing his friend’s left armpit, and I went to one knee to jam my sword into the weak armor there and through his heart and lungs. I pulled it free and smashed its pommel into the face of the man on the ground.

The last man dropped his shield to make a two-handed overhand swing; I caught it on my sword and forced him back against the wall. Face-to-face, I pinned his sword and both his hands above his head with the sword in my right hand and drew his dagger with my left. I stared through his helmet’s eye-slits into his very young, never-shaven face; he thought my eyes a gateway to hell. I punched the dagger through his armor plate and buried it deep in his belly. His brown eyes grew very wide and he dropped his sword.

“You, um, need any help there, princess?” one of the Brotherhood men asked.

“No,” I said, then remembered my courtesies. “Thank you. All of you gather around me.”

I walked to where the gasping man lay slowly dying, and put my sword through his armor and into his heart. I gave the same treatment to the man I’d hit in the face; he was not moving but still had some activity in his mind. Then I turned to the fighters. My fighters.

For thousands of years, Helium’s royal family has earned the right of leadership. We cannot lead soldiers until we have served as soldiers. I began as a junior gunner on _Battleship Number 34_ , cleaning already-spotless hatches and adjusting perfectly-calibrated targeting scopes. I have led boarding parties onto the blood-slick decks of Zodangan warships and crossed swords with merciless First Born pirates. I knew my role now.

“You all know your missions. You have trained. You have practiced. Trust your brothers. It is time to fight.”

In that moment they loved me without reservation. Each of them would die for me. On this night I only asked that they kill.

We fanned out from the bathhouse into the darkness, each group following its pre-assigned route. I made up one group by myself so that I could attend to the sick in the Kingspyre tower.

As I stalked across a bridge from the Kingspyre’s neighboring tower, a Holy warrior burst out of the doorway ahead of me. His eyes went wide and his thoughts expressed shock. I read in them how terrible I appeared as I loomed out of the night with my skin blackened and wearing dark leather. Blood dripped from my sword, my black ponytail bobbed in time with my steps, and I had a hard, determined look that frightened even me. My red eyes, which I had always considered my best feature, reflected the torchlight and put him in mind of demons.

I reached him as he fumbled for his sword and cut him down with a single, two-handed stroke across his chest. He fell to the stone floor of the bridge and began the work of dying. I had not broken my stride.

I took the steps up to the solar two at a time. A guard stood before its entrance; he raised his sword over his head to strike at me and I took both arms off at the elbows, again with a single stroke. I was filled with a single-minded ferocity and surprised once more by my strength. He stared mutely at the stumps while I stabbed my sword’s point into his throat.

The door had been closed and barred. I kicked it in, and it gave easily, coming off its hinges to crash onto the floor. My foot still hurt. Inside four men lay in the beds that the wealthier of these people use for sleep, while three women in long gray dresses and odd-looking head coverings huddled in a corner. I used some of the bedding to wipe my sword somewhat clean, and sheathed it. This was dagger work.

A fourth woman, this one dressed in more colorful fashion with her gray-streaked brown hair uncovered, burst into the solar from a back room as I started cutting the throats of the sick men.

“Stop this at once!” she shouted. “You cannot do this!”

“Be silent,” I said as I killed the third man. She stepped in to block my path to the fourth.

“I will not let you do this,” she said in her very high-pitched, almost screeching voice.

“It is not for you to say,” I said, and pushed her aside. She fell onto one of the beds, but got up and ran to the gaping doorway. The last man struggled to a sitting position, and looked up at me as I drew my blade across his throat. The thin woman leaned into the hallway and began shouting.

“Ser Bonifer! Help us! Murder! A red-eyed demon is murdering us!”

I walked to the doorway and grabbed her roughly by the arm. I pushed her against the wall.

“You must be silent,” I told her again.

“No! Murder! Murder! Ser Bonifer! Help us!”

I pinned her against the wall, my left forearm across the top of her chest right below her throat. I placed the point of my dagger over her heart. She was very thin with small, unusually low breasts and I could see the clear outline of her ribs and collarbones on the part of her body not covered by her clothing. A small spot of blood began to stain the white stripe across her dress where my dagger pricked her skin.

“I will not tell you again.”

Her face was oddly uneven, as though one side were slightly higher than the other. I looked into her eyes. They were bluish-gray and very wide. Her thoughts broadcast only terror. She screamed incoherently. She kept screaming until she began to cough and a small trickle of blood flowed out of the corner of her mouth. Her eyes seemed to become a deeper blue. Her face became less severe, and her hair now appeared reddish-brown rather than the wood-brown-and gray I had seen before.

“You killed me,” she said softly, a bewildered tone in her now-familiar voice. Tansy’s voice, from Tansy’s face.

I pulled my dagger out of her chest; I had not been aware that I had pressed it through her heart. She slowly slumped to a sitting position leaning against the wall and raised both hands to the wound, as though she could hold it closed. Blood ran between her fingers and down her chest to pool beneath her still form; her hair now appeared brown with gray once again and her face took on its original warped shape. Her last thoughts dwelt on a lover she had betrayed in her youth; I shut them out as I ripped away the top of her dress to clean my dagger, only realizing that exposing her breasts would shame her after I had already done so. I strode back down the steps, sheathing my dagger and drawing my sword again. Despite the odd apparition my mind felt clear, with only a cold determination. Fueled by Tansy’s rage over the singer’s betrayal, I had rarely felt more ready to kill.

A Holy warrior, fully armored except for his helmet, ran upwards to meet me. I kicked him in the chest and sent him sprawling back down the steps; he fell onto his back on a landing. His sword clattered down the stairs. He had close-cropped yellow hair and he seemed very young, though I have a hard time judging the ages of people here.

“Please. Mercy.”

“No.”

“Father receive me . . .”

I tried to stab him through the heart, but he crawled awkwardly backwards in a vain attempt to escape and my sword went into his belly. I twisted it, causing the metal of his armor to screech as it bent, pulled the blade free and left him moaning in pain and self-pity.

“Perhaps your gods will take you to Happy Valley.”

When I exited the tower back onto the bridge, an archer stood at its parapet with nocked arrow, preparing to loose it at someone below. He did not see me and I stepped to him quickly; he wore no armor but instead a thick quilted tunic. I shifted my sword to my left hand, grabbed the back of his tunic and threw him over the edge. He screamed as he fell. Very soon the screaming stopped.

At the other end of the bridge, a second archer heard the scream and turned toward me. He already had nocked an arrow, and he raised his bow and loosed as I ran toward him. It flew off into the night, far wide of me. I reached him before he could nock another and he dropped the bow, turning to run into the tower. I chased him down the stairs into the cellar where he disappeared into the darkness. Pulling a torch out of the sconce at the bottom of the stairs, I moved carefully forward and found him on his knees at the end of a corridor lined with what appeared to be empty prison cells.

“Please don’t kill me.”

I killed him. 

* * *

I encountered no one else as I left the tower and met the Lord of the Fallen Star in the castle’s courtyard. Gendry and Tansy stood with him. Gendry reached for my sword; I handed it over and he inspected it, making sure his new grip and crossbar had withstood heavy use, and then began to clean it with a rag. Still unsettled by my vision of Tansy in the solar, I reached for my sister, pulling her into my arms.

“You are well?” I asked softly into her hair.

“I’m getting there,” she murmured back. “You were right. It was disturbing to see you kill someone.”

“You wish that I had not?”

“I asked you to do it,” she said, “and I meant it.”

I released her and stroked the side of her face.

“The sick are accounted for?” Ned asked, breaking my reverie.

“Yes,” I said. “Also six fighters outside the baths, a warrior on the bridge, another at the door of the solar, a third on the stairs, two archers on the bridge and one woman who interfered.”

“Regrettable,” he said, “but necessary.”

“The castle is secure?”

“We’ve cleared the walls and the barracks,” he said. “A few survivors went into hiding and we’re hunting them down now.”

“Their leader?”

“Killed in the baths. We have no way of identifying anyone else. We likely killed some of the male whores as well.”

He turned to Tansy. “I’m sorry,” he said, his first acknowledgement of her previous life.

“Occupational hazard,” she said. “And no need to apologize. That’s no longer my life’s work.”

Ned looked at her strangely. His startled thoughts revealed that she had stopped using the rough peasant speech of her whore persona.

“Prisoners?” I prompted.

“Not many,” he said. “The Holy Hundred didn’t have camp followers. There’s a cook who’s been here forever – Lady Tansy vouched for him. Three Silent Sisters, who of course have nothing to say. And an old blacksmith.”

The women who had watched me slaughter the sick and murder their screeching friend were of a nursing order sworn to silence. My sin would remain my own. I knew I would carry it for a very long time.

“And our men?” I remembered to ask.

“A few injured, none killed. Your information was correct. The Holy Hundred did not fight well.”

“I noticed this also.”

“There may be some survivors,” Ned said, “holding out in the tunnels below the castle. Can you help our men search them?”

I nodded. Tansy made to follow; I stopped her with my hand on her chest.

“An ulsio is never more dangerous,” I told her, “than when it is cornered with no hope.”

“It’s the same for rats,” she said. “I know those tunnels. You can use my help.”

Crodell and another Brotherhood fighter went with us; I made Tansy stay directly behind me and Crodell brought up the rear. I told the men that I had exceptional hearing and could detect people breathing if there were no other sounds about.

And while I could not actually hear people breathing, I could hear them thinking, and there were two people underneath the Harrenhal kitchens. A wide stair led downward from the back of the large cooking area; we set off down the stairs with the Brotherhood men carrying torches while I kept my sword in my hand. Both had been with me outside the bathhouse and remained somewhat stunned by what they had seen; they gladly allowed me to go ahead of them.

“Where does this lead?” I asked Tansy.

“The warehouse,” she said. “It’s for long-term storage of what they call dry goods – grain, flour, that sort of thing.”

As we drew closer, I could garner more details from the simple and child-like thoughts of the two people in this “warehouse.” They were not trying to hide; they apparently slept on the warehouse floor and seemed puzzled that no one had yet asked for supplies for an expected feast.

We entered the large, torch-lit underground chamber and found it filled with wooden racks holding sacks, barrels and boxes. A short, round and very dirty man dressed in what appeared to be a discarded flour sack shuffled toward us, pointed at my breasts and shouted, “Tits!”

A second man, taller and thinner but likewise dirty and wearing a sack with holes cut in it for his neck and arms, stood behind him and pointed at Tansy.

“Tits!” he cried.

He moved alongside his friend and the two of them stiffly swung their arms back and forth, alternately pointing at me and at my sister and shouting, “Tits! Tits! Tits!”

“Should we kill them, Princess?” Crodell asked.

“No kill Harpo!” the shorter man sniveled. “Kill Tom, let Harpo live.”

“Kill Harpo!” his friend argued. “Tom work. Harpo lazy. Kill him dead.”

“By the gods,” Tansy said, “they’re idiots.”

“That is not a kind thing to say,” I scolded gently. “They did not ask to be this way.”

“No patronize Harpo!” the fat man said. “Harpo speak for self.”

“Calm yourself,” I said. “We will not kill you, if you work for us. If you do not work, you will die.”

“Work!” they both said together.

“Take these sacks of grain to the castle courtyard and load them on the wagons there. Do not stop until all of them are in the courtyard and on the wagons. Courtyard. Wagons.”

I turned to Crodell.

“Keep watch on them,” I said. “If they do anything other than carry grain, kill them.”

“Yes, Princess.”

The three of us now continued on our tour, with Tansy pointing the way. I found one Holy Hundred fighter cowering in a dark corner; I held his torch while our remaining fighter dispatched the terrified holy warrior.

After several more hours of walking, I was satisfied that the Holy Hundred had been exterminated. We returned to the courtyard to find that Ned had already sent word to Thoros to bring the wagons and pack animals inside the castle; for now, my part was done.

Leaving the Lord of the Fallen Star and our Brotherhood companion, we returned to the kitchens. The old cook was overjoyed to see Tansy and despite the late hour laid out for us a wonderful spread of roasted meats, fresh bread and steamed vegetables. I had never had such delicious food and ate a great deal of it, with both wine and the wonderful golden-brown drink known as “ale.” I carefully avoiding considering why the cook had so many wonderful foods already prepared.

Afterwards we sought out Tansy’s childhood chambers for some sleep. As we walked through the stone-lined corridors, I detected a strange thought pattern. It was not human, but it was telepathic, and it probed for human thoughts.

The unknown creature was not as strong a telepath as I, allowing me to monitor its probes for a time while shielding myself from detection. It sought a human to enslave, that it could force into servitude. Apparently I had killed its former servant, the mousy-haired screaming woman, and it desired a replacement. It detected Tansy and selected her as its prey, advancing toward us up the corridor. I drew my sword.

“Dejah, what is it?”

“Some sort of monster. It is not human. It can also read thoughts. I have never encountered its like.”

“What does it want?”

“To enslave you. I will protect you.”

I motioned for my sister to remain behind me as I cautiously rounded what I believed to be the last corner between ourselves and the monster.

I saw the beast. It was very small, perhaps half again the length of my forearm, and extremely ugly. A round head held two pointed ears, while a long fur-covered tail whisked back and forth. It was covered in orange fur, highlighted by yellow stripes.

 _Serve me_ , its thoughts broadcast at me.

 _Die_ , I responded.

It turned and ran in an odd loping gait. I gave chase. I pounded down the corridor with Tansy coming after me.

“Dejah!” she shouted. “It’s just a kitty! It’s innocent!”

It ran into a chamber; I could see gray outlines of a bed, table and chairs in the flickering light of the torches in the corridor. It had hidden under the bed.

 _You’ll never catch me_ , its thoughts taunted. _The other female will serve me._

I grabbed the bed and flipped it over.

 _Die_ , I repeated.

The monster leapt to the open window. It arched its back and emitted a horrible hissing noise, showing me its small but sharp teeth. If I came close, it intended to leap for my throat.

 _Choose your death_ , I broadcast at it. _Out the window or be cut into pieces_.

 _I am cute,_ it answered. _Everybody likes me._

 _Not I,_ I thought at it. _I desire your painful death._

Tansy had arrived at the doorway.

“Dejah,” she said, breathing hard from the run, “it’s just someone’s pet.”

“It is a monster. It seeks to enslave you with its mind-control powers. It will shit in a box and force you to clean it. And it wishes you to bring it fish.”

It leapt out the window. Its thoughts cursed me until it reached the ground. I put away my sword and looked out the window in search of its broken corpse. Somehow the monster had landed safely on the stone pavement far below and now rose to its feet and began to lick its paws.

“It was just a cat, Dejah. They’re harmless. I wonder why it jumped like that?”

“I do not know,” I lied. “But I do not like cats.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris reveals her secret.


	16. Chapter Eleven (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris reveals her secret identity.

Chapter Eleven (Dejah Thoris)

We encountered no further monsters as I followed Tansy to her childhood chambers. They had since been used again, most recently by some now-deceased holy warrior. He had left behind a holy book and some holy objects; we tossed them all into the holy fire we built in a stone fireplace.

This would be my first night on this planet in an actual bed chamber; I found it somewhat austere but comfortable. The bed had a large rectangular mattress filled with the large, fluffy hairs of birds, known as “feathers.” It was very soft and felt very soothing under my tired body. I curled myself up next to Tansy and slept very soundly; my physical exhaustion overcame my racing thoughts, something I have rarely enjoyed at the moment of sleep.

Tansy still slept when I awoke; I left her and went to the castle courtyard where a great deal of activity was already taking place. Thoros had moved the wagon train and pack animals inside the big gates. While his men – and the two addled individuals we had found under the castle – carried sacks and barrels of food out of the castle depths to load them in the wagons and arrange them on the backs of horses, the Lord of the Fallen Star supervised the collection and stripping of the dead. Their heads were removed for mounting along the walls and the corpses stacked in the courtyard for the Lannister to find.

“There’s a dead woman, too,” one of the Brotherhood fighters said. “Looks to be noble. What about her?”

“Like the others,” I said. “Take her head, strip her and add her to the pile.”

The Lord of the Fallen Star looked at me. I nodded, and then looked away. He said nothing more, and I did not wish to know what he thought.

Weapons and armor taken from the dead went into additional wagons found in the castle, along with some of the castle’s enormous stores of food and other supplies. The Holy Hundred had included their own rather large supply train, which now would serve the Brotherhood. No drivers or other workers could be found; perhaps the Holy warriors had driven their own wagons. A string of over one hundred matching gray horses would be taken back to the caves as well, each bearing a load of food. Harrenhal had a reputation as a haunted place – one occupied by the spirits of the dead in the beliefs of these people – and we hoped that the horrific sight of the mounted heads and stacked bodies would demoralize the Lannister’s men.

Ned shook his head as he watched the two warehouse workers become tangled and begin cursing one another.

“Do not harm them if it can be avoided,” I said. “They are not capable of making their own way in this world.”

“Who is?” he countered. “But I understand. We’ll give them a place and put them to work. If we send them away they’ll surely die.”

“Thank you,” I said. “They are innocents. Annoying, but incapable of evil.”

“Or good, either. But we won’t make their infirmity worse.”

We do not have such people on Barsoom. I knew, in theory, that they could be hatched. But the Breeding Council’s inspectors check every egg carefully, and those with imperfect embryos are destroyed well before hatching. It is a harsh standard, and in the past provoked some heated controversies. I assume that imperfect hatchlings are likewise destroyed; I had never thought to investigate and few others seem inclined to ask such questions, either. What was the moral choice in this matter? I did not know.

While I pondered this, I watched one of the fighters tear down the dark blue banners with white “Nittany Lion” symbols that flapped from the castle’s towers. He threw them down to another fighter who shoved them into a fire burning in a large metal container at the edge of the courtyard.

I had no doubt now. This planet had definitely changed me. Dejah Thoris of Helium had been a hard woman when necessary; Dejah Thoris of Jasoom was simply a hard woman. Or had this place simply brought out my true nature? Had John Carter been right to flee my presence?

I loved Tansy, with fierce intensity. I felt friendship for Ned and Gendry. But everyone else I had encountered on this planet could have been one of the disposable cleaning cloths we use on Barsoom after eliminating waste, for all that I cared whether they lived or died. I had killed men who attempted to surrender, and murdered a terrified woman for screaming. I knew that I would see Tansy’s eyes in her eyes for a very long time.

I needed to leave this place before it changed me even further. It was time to begin my search.

* * *

“I will not be separated from my sister.”

I have never liked hearing my own words thrown back at me. Having finished bathing and drying myself, I sat on the edge of the bed and continued cleaning the wood ash from my harness.

“This is something,” I said, “that I have to do alone.”

“Very heroic of you,” she said. “What did you see last night?”

“What does that mean?”

“Something happened to you,” she said. “While you were alone, killing the holy warriors in the solar. What did they say to you?”

“Nothing I have not heard before.”

“Then what did you see?”

I thought to lie, but could not imagine anything believable.

“I saw you,” I said. “In the woman I killed. I did not truly mean to, but my dagger went into her heart. She asked me why I had killed her. She had your face, your voice.”

“I’m right here,” my sister said. “And I’m safe. You did what had to be done.”

“It did not have to be done,” I said. “I slaughtered people about whom I knew nothing.”

“We knew plenty. They were a cult of child rapists.”

“I am not a good person, Tansy. I was ready to slaughter them before I knew that, and I would have done so had we never learned of their crimes and thought them a band of gentle healers and scholars. You deserve a sister worthy of you. Allow me to leave alone.”

“Dejah,” Tansy sat next to me on the bed, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close. “I would rather die with you than live alone. My life was a little piece of hell before I met you. I’ll gladly die before I go back to it. If you’re going to leave without me, then please just run that burning sword through my heart first. It would be a kindness.

“We’re sisters now. And that means we stay together. No matter what happens.”

“We are sisters,” I repeated. “And so I would not take you into danger.”

“You truly do not understand this place,” Tansy answered, letting go of me. “I’ve told you before. These men fear you. They _fuck_ me. You won’t be out of sight before three or four of our brothers-in-arms are pushing me onto my back and shoving their cocks into me. They saw what you did to Tom o’Sevens, how you cut other men into pieces, so then it’s a blade across the throat for Sweet Tansy to make sure she won’t tell the killer princess.”

Her face reddened and she spoke even more quickly, with a husky, emotional tone underlying her words.

“You seem to think that all men and all women are equals, just because you’re stronger, tougher and smarter than any man. It’s not that way for the rest of us. There’s a saying we have, for a really good reason. ‘Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.’”

She slowed a little, and leaned back from her intense, forward posture.

“You _might_ take me into danger, it’s true. But as sure as all seven hells, you _would_ leave me in danger if I stayed behind. Do I have to beg you to protect me?”

I dropped my leathers and returned her embrace. I felt deeply ashamed; hot tears ran down my face.

“I am truly sorry,” I said. “I was thoughtless and cruel. I would never wish to make you feel that you had to beg your sister for anything. I love you.”

“Then take me with you.”

“Always. I will never leave you.”

I had experienced the thoughts of the girls Jeyne and Willow as they died, as they thought of the horrible pain and humiliation of their rapes. The violation, as someone else took their body and made their own will meaningless. Treated them as an object, not a human. It had shocked me then, and recalling their memories still made my hands physically shake. I could not imagine that happening to Tansy. And yet, I could. By her words, it was clear to me that it had happened to my sister at least once. To someone I loved. Unbidden, my mind replaced Jeyne with Tansy in those vivid, horrific images, and I began to weep uncontrollably.

“Dejah,” Tansy said, now concerned. She stroked my face. “You didn’t know. It’s all right. Truly. Calm down. What is so terrible?”

“Jeyne,” I sobbed. “Willow. I saw the rapes in their minds. The thought of that being you. My sister.”

“Dejah. I’m fine. As long as I’m with you, I’m fine.”

I looked at her, staring into her wide blue eyes to be sure she understood the depth of my conviction.

“No one will hurt you,” I said, my voice raspy from the sobbing. “I will kill anyone who even thinks to harm you.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“This is who I am.” 

* * *

Well-rested, I toured the castle as Tansy showed me where the dragon had supposedly melted walls and towers with its fiery breath. As she had said, the damage had clearly come after the stones had been put into place. I did not know of any weapon of Barsoom that could cause such damage; a cutting torch could do so but the operator would have to stand directly in front of the stone, making it useless in battle. I had read papers proposing directed-energy beam weapons that might have had similar results.

My eyes, and apparently those of many from this land as well, found Harrenhal a depressing place. We saw the remnants of a pit used to torture animals that had been dug into the side of the courtyard fairly recently. But the impression went beyond that. The dark gray stone used in its construction seemed to absorb light and sound. In addition to the melting, many of its buildings had simply collapsed from obvious lack of maintenance. And it was gigantic; I estimated that it could comfortably house 20,000 people, and would require a garrison of at least 4,000 soldiers to properly man its walls, fighting positions and gates.

All of that seemed to imply that this had once been a much richer and more heavily populated land.

“Did you have a happy childhood?” I suddenly asked Tansy as we sat the roof of the Kingspyre tower and looked out far over the surrounding countryside, seeing the ruins of Harrentown, a large lake with an island in the middle, some farms and forests. It was a beautiful view, despite the odd shades of green. I did not see many signs of habitation. Few people apparently came up here, but someone had repaired the wooden ladder leading to its hatch within the last century, and the surface seemed solid enough to hold us.

“That’s an odd question.”

“You have not been happy for a very long time.”

“And you wondered if I ever had been?”

“Yes.”

She thought for a moment.

“I was happy here,” she finally said. “I know it seems a dreary old pile of rock. And it is. But I had friends, I was loved, I had no real cares.

“You can’t return to childhood. Once you leave the garden, the gate shuts behind you forever. I left it too early, but that’s true for most people in these lands.”

“It is with us as well,” I said. “I am sorry that you had to leave the garden.”

“The time always comes. At least this time when I leave, I won’t be alone.”

“I was foolish. I will never leave you alone.”

“I know.” 

* * *

We rode out with the last of the Brotherhood on the second morning after the attack. The two addled fools from the warehouse, the cook and blacksmith, the three oddly-dressed nurses and a dozen boys rescued from the baths all left with the Brotherhood; Harrenhal would be home only to the dead until someone found the corpses we left to mark our passing. My passing.

The wagon train veered off onto a stream bed leading into the woods a short distance down the road leading out of Harrenhal. The going was very tough, with men having to dismount and push the wagons across many obstacles, but that hard effort meant that no hoof- or wheel-prints would remain to give away their route.

Tansy and I dismounted to watch the work and speak with Ned and Gendry, who were directing men repairing the short roadway between the gates and the stream so no evidence of the wagons’ passage would be left.

“I cannot thank you enough,” Ned said. “Many people will live through the winter because of you.”

“Many people died here because of me.”

“I am grateful nonetheless.”

He took my hand and raised it to kiss it, but I pulled him close in an embrace instead.

“Formalities end when you shed blood together,” I said. “Be well.”

Tansy allowed him to kiss her hand, while I embraced Gendry as well. He blushed when he felt my breasts press against his chest. Tansy embraced him and, seeing his face redden when her breasts rested on his arm, kissed him.

“You’ll find that girl you want to kiss,” she said. “And she’ll be very lucky.”

We mounted up and rode away from Harrenhal. This road was wider than any I’d yet seen on this planet, deeply rutted by wagon traffic and obviously rarely if ever maintained. The sun shone brightly and many of the small flying creatures Tansy told me were called “birds” sang happy songs, all in seeming mockery of the carnage we left in our wake.

Not long after setting out we came to what Tansy said was called the Kingsroad, the most important thoroughfare in the land. Fittingly, it was likewise a deeply rutted dirt track. With war to the north and war to the south, either direction seemed an equal choice to seek John Carter.

“Where does the road lead?”

“To the north, it crosses the River Road. To the west that leads to River Run, the seat of my father. To the east it goes to a land known as The Vale.”

“The Vale?”

“A poetic term for valley.”

“I suppose there is a great valley there?”

“Yes,” she said. “How did you know?”

“What lies beyond that crossroads?”

“Eventually the road reaches a land known as the North.”

“Poetic.”

“You come from a city called Helium.”

“I concede your point,” I said. “What is to the south?”

“The land becomes much richer farmland, and actual people live there. It eventually reaches the capital, a very large city called King’s Landing.”

“Do you wish to go to River Run?”

“There’s nothing for me there.”

“Are they not your family?” I asked. “You could be made legitimate.”

“That’s unlikely. But even were I not a bastard, I’ve been a whore. Once that line’s been crossed, you can never go back. A whore can never be a lady. Besides, you’re my family now. The Tullys never were; the Whents were for a time but no one seems to know what happened to them. I assume the Lannisters murdered them so they could give the castle to their followers.”

“Then we will go south. Who rules in King’s Landing?”

“Queen Cersei, First of Her Name.”

“We shall pay her a visit, and ask of John Carter.”

I now doubted that I had come to Dirt, at least not in the present time. John Carter had described steam-powered railroads, and Ulysses Paxton had confirmed that these had been greatly improved since John Carter left their planet and that flying machines as well as combustion-powered wheeled vehicles had begun to appear. Our own observations of Jasoom confirmed networks of paved roads and railroads crossing every continent. Surely this realm’s greatest thoroughfare would at least have been paved in that case, and supplemented by steel rails. I saw no sign that either had ever existed here.

I had landed among barbarians, and I fit right in. 

* * *

For the main thoroughfare of the realm, the Kingsroad also lacked both traffic and amenities. Much of that could be attributed to the recent warfare, which apparently had started after some action by Tansy’s hateful older half-sister, the now dead-for-good Stone Heart. But even counting the burned-out buildings that formerly housed taverns, inns, stables and similar businesses there did not seem to be enough of an infrastructure here to have supported much commerce during times of peace. Trade dies when money rests in the hands of only a few. As long as those few have more than others, much more than others, they rarely care what happens to working people.

In Westeros, those greedy, selfish few were the high nobles and the religious elite. On Barsoom many of the wealthy (or more accurately, many of their well-paid apologists) claimed the mantle of “job creators” who would uplift the masses, if only they could control even more of the land’s wealth. Though according to Tansy most of the rich in Westeros did not attempt to cloak their vile greed and disdain with claims of serving the greater good, and simply took what they wanted because they could.

We had taken vast amounts of gold from the coffers of the Holy Hundred, because we could, and Ned had insisted that Tansy and I take several fat sacks of coins. We’d also fitted ourselves with cloaks, tunics and other items from the clothing we found in Harrenhal. We had plenty of money, we actually looked somewhat respectable, and so we stayed in inns whenever possible.

The first we entered had roasted a sheep. We took an empty table at the very back next to a pleasantly crackling fire and I asked for a platter of sheep meat, which I learned is called “mutton” for some reason, and a pitcher of ale. Tansy had some mutton as well. Dark, rich reddish meat with a musky taste; I savored every bite. There were also roasted potatoes, another gift of the non-existent gods. While I ate my mutton, a man sat across the table from me, next to Tansy.

“Sweet Tansy, are you working here now? Will this do?”

He lay a silver coin on the table, and began running his hand up and down her thigh. I did not need to read his limited mind to grasp his meaning. I wiped the mutton grease off my face with the cloth provided.

“You will take your hand off my sister,” I said, “take your coin, and leave.”

He was a somewhat fat man, with brownish hair that only covered the back part of his skull and a brownish beard tied into a point. The contempt I felt for that beard shamed me, but only for a moment.

“Oh, and what about you?” he sneered. “You work with Tansy here, Redeye? I wouldn’t mind you two doubling up on me.”

He laid a second silver coin on the table. I reached across the table and grabbed his beard-braid to pull his face close to mine. I held the knife I’d been using to cut the mutton in front of his eyes. Juice dripped slowly down the blade. It made me hungry. I hoped I would not get his blood on the knife, as I had not finished using it on the mutton.

“I will not repeat this again,” I said. “Take your hand off my sister. Do not reach for your knife. Take your coins. Leave.”

“I’d rather stay here and do some business with my girl.”

“Have you ever raped anyone?”

“What?” My question flustered him. “Sure. Be glad I’m offering you coin.”

His thoughts said otherwise; he was loathsome but no rapist. Therefore he would live.

I cut his beard off with the knife. He fell back onto the bench and, his face having turned bright red, jumped to his feet and reached for his own blade. I punched that supremely punchable face, trying not to kill him; his red nose broke and he collapsed onto his back. I held the platter of mutton and pitcher of ale in place as his feet struck the bottom of the table, but he spilled my drink and Tansy’s. The innkeep rushed over.

“What’s happening here?”

“He drank too much,” I said. “Please bring us more ale and mutton. And a clean knife. He is paying.” I handed the innkeep the two silver coins, and tossed the ridiculous little beard into the fire.

“Is he dead?” Tansy asked. “I always hated him.”

“Not yet. Are you going to finish that?” 

* * *

We could not always secure a bed in an inn and spent a number of nights huddled under trees. There were scavengers about called wolves; less fearsome than most creatures of Barsoom but deadly enough if a pack found us while we slept. Fortunately my people’s telepathic senses never truly sleep, and have evolved to alert us of the approach of enemies including the fierce predators of Barsoom. I awoke several times each night to drive away wolves who wished to attack our horses. It was not difficult; they instinctively feared me. They were wise to do so.

After one night of camping under the strange stars, we bathed in a small stream running through the woods. It was a beautiful little enclosed valley, and I was watching the flying animals – birds – with fascination and wondering why we did not have more of these on Barsoom, given our much lighter gravity. Another paper was taking shape in my mind.

When I looked down, there was a thin stream of red blood in the water. Tansy was bleeding. I became very upset.

“Are you hurt? Are you ill?”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just my moon blood.”

“Your what? What can stop it?”

“Nothing,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “It’s a natural part of a woman’s life, Dejah. A woman of this world, anyway.”

She looked at me.

“I deserve the truth now.”

“I will give it,” I said. “First tell me that you will recover.”

“Yes, like I said. It’s natural. A woman carries eggs, and once every cycle of the moon your body flushes them clean, including blood. That only happens in healthy women. If you’re too lean, like I probably am now, you don’t always have moon blood and probably can’t become with child. I have moon blood far less often than most women because I’ve taken so much moon tea over my life. Plus it lessens as you age, and at one-and-thirty I may be approaching that stage.”

“Moon tea? Become with child? This has to do with live birth?”

“Dejah. Just how ignorant are you?”

“Deeply,” I said. “I am only an egg. I just fell out of the sky one moon cycle ago.”

“I believe that. Let me get dressed and I’ll explain. And then you’ll explain. You’ll explain everything.”

We walked back to our little campsite, and Tansy told me how women of this world carry their eggs within their bodies, and the men inject sperm into them during sex, which may or may not quicken the egg. As I understood her – and it was difficult to follow for one totally unaware of the process – every woman has a cycle that matches the orbit of this planet’s moon; she is most fertile during the middle of the cycle, and at the end of the cycle if she has not quickened her egg is expelled along with blood. Women place rags in their underclothes – the rags I had found in Brienne’s saddlebags – to absorb this flow.

That gives a woman little control over child-bearing, other than refusing to have sex. And I had already seen how difficult that was for women here: men wanted, and expected, sex constantly. Rape, which clearly had little to do with sex and everything to do with domination, seemed common.

And women also wanted sex, they simply did not demand it as boorishly as many of the men. Actually, they had no means to demand it, and usually could only satisfy the demands of men. The women had no power over the most basic biological function of their lives.

“This is horrible.” I was truly shocked. “How can you live like this?”

“We want children. We want them desperately.”

They must receive some sort of hormonal reward for carrying a child. I wished to study this process in depth; it would answer so many questions about the origins of the four-limbed races of Barsoom. And it was so radically, bizarrely different from our own form of childbirth. We females have full control over our ovulation. When we wish to produce an egg, we do. It then incubates in a hatchery, receiving a nutrient bath that allows it to grow. When ready, the child breaks free and emerges.

I recalled Brienne’s imagery of a newborn child.

“How large do you become when bearing a child?”

“About so,” she said, holding her arms wide in front of her.

“Is it painful? How long does it last? And how does the child emerge?”

“Apparently not when you carry them,” she said, “though it’s damned inconvenient. It lasts nine moon cycles, usually. The child comes out the same way it went in. That part is very painful, and many women die in the process.”

“Apparently? You have no children yourself?”

She looked away, and I sensed pain.

“I am sorry, I do not wish to cause you distress.”

“Like I said, we want children. It’s part of our being, and I wanted them too. But part of being a whore is to avoid carrying a child. To do that, we drink a concoction called moon tea. I drank it regularly, and I made it for the girls who worked for me. That always made my nickname a little bitter: the tansy flower is an important part of moon tea.

“Anyway, if you take too much moon tea over time, it interferes with your ability to carry a child. Many women miscarry. That means their child dies inside them. I’ve never even reached that stage. I sometimes think I’m at peace with that but obviously I’m not.

“We were the only two women on the Brotherhood’s expedition, which rescued twelve small children. No one asked us to even look at them. Did that strike you as odd?”

“No,” I said. “Should it have?”

“Women here are seen as nurturing. We bear the young and care for them. None of those men saw us that way.”

“They know me,” I said, “and for the most part fear me, as an emotionless killing machine. There is some truth to this opinion. But I thought the nurses we captured cared for the children we found.”

“That’s not the point. I know those men want me for sex. Some of them have had me. But none of them saw me as a mother. As a complete woman.”

She sighed.

“I think I’ve always known that you don’t understand these things. That’s why you don’t judge me, and I love you for it.”

“I wish I could do something for you.”

“You can,” she said. “Stop avoiding telling me your real story. Right now.”

By now we had struck our camp, tacked up our horses and mounted them. As our horses walked southward, I pondered my story. I knew that telling Tansy everything might cost me my sister, but I owed her the truth. Anxiety held me in its nerve-jangling grip as I spoke, and I felt light-headed, on the verge of panic.

“I am Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, daughter of Prince Mors Kajak and Princess Heru, grand-daughter of King Tardos Mors. I am the estranged wife of John Carter, who commands my city’s military forces and those of our allies.”

“All right.”

“Helium is a real place, but it is not in Sothoryos.”

“All right.”

“All this,” I gestured around us at the empty pastures on either side of the road and the forests beyond, “is part of a planet, with a name I do not know. The Eastern Continent, the Southern Continent and Westeros all lie on an immense ball of rock that hurtles through an empty void. We call such a ball of rock a planet.”

I used John Carter’s word, _planet_ , as I did not know if these people had such a term in their language.

“There are many planets in the universe.” Again, I used John Carter’s term. “What we call the vast expanse out beyond a planet’s shell of air. An unknown number, at least to us. Every star in the night sky is a sun just like that one, plus many more too far away to be seen, and most of them are circled by planets. As I said, I do not know the name of the planet on which we stand now. But Helium lies on a different planet, a planet that we call Barsoom and John Carter’s people called Mars.

“Our people are very similar to yours, but not exactly the same. We lay eggs outside our bodies, for one thing. And we do not feel the same passion for children. I suspect that we live much longer lives than you do. Our blood is blue, not red like yours.”

“Do they all look like you?”

“My copper-colored skin is common to all of our people, and almost all have black hair. Some have black eyes rather than red; I have never seen blue eyes like yours among our people. There are other peoples on my planet with black skin or yellow skin and a very few with white skin, but we are the most common type.”

I did not wish to hide facts from my sister, but did not think it a good time to describe the six-limbed green people of Barsoom.

“As I have stated, I was bred for size, strength and beauty. As a princess, I am larger, more intelligent and more beautiful than most women, but less receptive to the emotions of others.”

I did not know their word for empathy, or if they had one, only that I had very little of it.

“I do not think that last is a common failing of royalty among my people, but is a shortcoming unique to me. I have become a much harder woman since my arrival here, and this frightens me.”

Tansy looked at me but said nothing. She had seen me execute the singer Tom and knew what I had done in the castle’s solar. She understood that I did not simply indulge in self-pity.

“Our society is violent, at least as violent and war-like as this one. I believe it to be much older than yours, for we are capable of making many more devices than your people. We have machines that fly, pictures that move, and weapons of terrible destructive power. We have a great deal more knowledge of the natural world, and are much wealthier.

“It is also possible that I am insane. You may run away now if you wish.”

“And how,” she asked instead, “did you come here?”

“I raised my hands to a blue planet in the night sky, where I believed that John Carter had gone, and wished to be there. That is how John Carter said he came to Barsoom.”

“He is not from your world.”

“No. He called his home planet Dirt. It is very similar to this planet. It may be this planet, but I have come to doubt this.”

“So you came here by magic.”

“I do not believe in magic,” I said, “but I cannot deny that I disappeared from my home, and arrived in the forest.”

“Naked.”

“Yes, but we are often naked on Barsoom. I prefer to be unclothed.”

“I’ve noticed. The rest of your story is true?”

“Mostly,” I said. “I do not recall lying but I might have. John Carter believed that we of Barsoom do not lie, but only because in his complete lack of honesty he did not recognize . . .”

“Dejah. Stay with the point.”

“Yes. I came to seek my husband, John Carter, to assuage the anger of my grandfather, the king of our city. I was not always so good at killing people, but a princess of my people is trained to fight. I am somehow stronger and faster than I was on Barsoom. I have no explanation for this. Do you still wish to be my sister?”

I had come to the decisive moment. Her answer came quickly, though it seemed as though eons passed.

“That’s not subject to change.”

I exhaled.

“I am glad. I have come to love my sister.”

“And she loves you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris encounters The Black Destrier.


	17. Chapter Twelve (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris dispenses harsh justice.

Chapter Twelve (Dejah Thoris)

Relieved to learn that my alien origin – and failure to disclose it – had not cost me my sister’s love, I rode alongside her feeling that I might float out of my saddle at any moment. Suddenly very thirsty, I took a long pull from the water bottle I had looted in Harrenhal. The countryside and the road remained empty, until I sometime later detected three people watching the road from a campsite among the trees. They had built a platform in a large tree from which they could shoot passing strangers with arrows, but when the youth on watch determined that we were women who could be raped he summoned his two older companions and the three of them stepped into the road to block our passing.

The two men had apparently been farmers forced to join one of the many armies fighting in the recent wars; the younger man stood in awe of their fabricated tales of adventure. They had murdered a number of people who passed by their ambush site and robbed them of money or useful items. They raped any women among their victims, and looked forward to doing the same to us. Afterwards the youth threw the bodies and any carts or wagons into a deep ditch a short distance off the side of the road. They sold any horses they captured.

And now they saw easy prey simply ride right up to them. The youth continued to think about their past exploits; one of the men marveled that each of them had a woman to rape while the other tried to figure out how he could dominate his companion by making him hold us in place while he had his turn with each of us first. They disgusted me and I knew that I would kill them without regret. I slid off my horse and drew my sword.

“Now you just drop that pretty sword, pretty girl, and it’ll all be over before you know it,” said the man who believed himself their leader. He stood a short distance in front of his companions, with a broad smile that showed several rotting teeth. He had not washed in a very long time, and wore ragged clothes. I stalked toward him and slashed him across his protruding belly; he screamed, dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

The second man, taller and thinner, with sparse and dirty hair the color of chicken grease, raised his sword unsteadily; I knocked it aside, sending it flying out of his hand, and ran him through. He looked blankly at me, and I placed my foot on his belly to push him away and free my sword. The youth dropped his own sword – he had no knowledge of how to use it – and raised his hands.

“I didn’t have nothing to do with it,” he said in a squeaky voice. “They made me do it.”

“You enjoyed it. They let you rape the women after they were done.”

“Only ’cause they made me,” he said, his voice shaky. “They said I had to, else I wasn’t no man.”

“You lie. You may kneel and I will cut off your head, and you will die without pain. Or I will stab you in the belly and you will die very slowly, like your friend.”

The first man had stopped screaming and now whimpered, asking for his mother. People of Barsoom do not ask for a parent as we die; that relationship is not as fundamental to our being. Such begging as does occur is usually for the intervention of the goddess Issus, and is considered a cowardly and humiliating act. An honorable man or woman of my planet dies silently and proudly.

“Do you have to kill me?” the youth asked. He had no beard, and red marks covered his dirty face.

“Yes.”

“I won’t do it never again. I promise.”

“I have no wish to speak with you. Kneel and die. Stand and die. I am indifferent to your choice. But this is the moment of your death, and I your killer.”

He began to weep, hoping to elicit pity from me, but did not kneel. As I had promised, I had no pity. I jammed my sword into his belly, twisted it and pulled it free. He fell onto his back and continued to cry.

“It hurts,” he howled. “It hurts.”

“So does rape,” I told him. “Soon it will be over, so be silent, lie still and enjoy it. I believe you told that to the women you raped and killed. You thought it amusing then. Is it no longer so?”

I tore his tunic from his body and used it to clean my sword as I walked back to my horse.

“Are you alright?” Tansy asked.

“I should ask you. I am sorry that you witnessed that.”

“We are what we are,” she said. “Let’s not try to hide it from each other.”

“Thank you.”

“You probably shouldn’t leave their swords for the next fuckers to pick up and use.”

“You are right.”

I sheathed my sword and walked back to the dead body and the two dying robber-rapists. I picked up each sword by its hilt, with the tip resting on the road, and pressed down on the blade with my foot. They were all cheaply made and bent easily. I searched the bodies for money; the dead man had none but the dying adult had a few coins, which I kept.

“Bitch!” the dying youth screamed as I checked him for belongings. He had nothing of interest other than what appeared to be a toy soldier tucked into his leggings. I dropped it next to him. “They made me do it! You’ll go to hell when you die!”

I ignored him, mounted up, and we continued our southward ride. 

* * *

We camped in the forest that night, well back from the road where our horses would not be visible. I considered what might have happened to Tansy without me; I had dispatched the three bandits with little trouble, but they would surely have raped and murdered my sister had I not been present.

Tansy’s outburst, and my memories of Jeyne and Willow, had obviously affected me deeply. I could have simply killed the younger rapist, or even let him go with a stern warning to repent lest I return to kill him. Without medical care which I knew that these people could not deliver, the two I had left with belly wounds would die slowly and in a great deal of agony. I had been intentionally cruel, and yet I found that I did not regret my actions. Had I not killed them, they would have raped the next female travelers they captured, and then murdered them. It had not been my intention to become some sword-swinging avenger of women, but at least on this occasion I did not mind having played the role.

The weather remained very fine, and I enjoyed the ride. We passed a few farmers moving wagonloads of produce, straw or manure for short distances along the road, but no one making a multi-day journey. They did not seem eager to engage in conversation with strangers, and one farmer and his son abandoned their cart to hide from us among the reeds of a small swamp.

Two days after I killed the bandit-rapists, I detected a larger group blocking the road. As we drew closer, I could make out twelve thought patterns. They intended to stop travelers and exact “taxes” in the form of horses and any valuables they might have. All were on foot, and as we drew near I saw that none had weapons other than pieces of wood.

I considered dismounting and killing them, but decided that this would be excessive and might disturb my sister. She had not objected to my killing armed men, but I suspected that she had not fully approved of my execution of the youngest would-be rapist even though she had said nothing about it. Or perhaps I had simply projected my own misgivings upon her.

I asked my horse to halt a short distance from the tax collectors, and Tansy pulled up beside me.

“More rapists?” she asked.

“I cannot tell,” I said. “They will demand our horses and money, and beat us with sticks if we do not deliver them.”

“Beat us to death, you mean.”

“It is likely.”

“Can you kill them all?”

“Easily. Do you wish me to?”

“If you have to.”

“They have no training,” I said. “We can ride past without killing all of them.”

“Let’s do that, then.”

“Ride directly behind me. Do not let any space open between your horse and mine. The spare horses will flank you on either side to keep any attackers away from you.”

I explained the formation to the horses; they understood and thought it an exciting game. I suspect they understood at some level that humans could die, but they pretended otherwise. That is the way of horses.

We moved forward, picking up the pace until we were at full gallop when we reached the people blocking the road. Only one stood his ground, flailing about with his stick, and I applied the flat of my sword to his head as I passed him. He fell and the spare horse on that side easily leapt over his unconscious body. The remainder scattered, some continuing to run away long after we had passed. 

* * *

Not every experience on our ride southward involved killing people. We rode through mostly empty countryside, the skies clear of rain and the air sweet and cool, a sharp and pleasant contrast to the hot, dusty winds of Barsoom.

Every day, I rode a different horse and learned to commune with each of my tiny herd. I found the connection both stimulating and soothing; while we can make telepathic contact with most of the higher animals of Barsoom, they are usually hostile. Even those we keep as pets are often unpleasant creatures, in their attitude much like the little monster Tansy had named a “cat,” though not as noxious in appearance.

Despite having killed a great number of people, I felt myself become more at ease in this strange world. My sister had seen me kill and had learned of my alien origins, yet she loved me still. That lightened my heart – the metaphorical center of emotion on both Barsoom and this nameless planet – even as I worried that I rode on a foolish quest and had dragged Tansy along with me. I sought one man among millions, with little to aid this search beyond my senses. And I had no reason to believe he might wish to be found; more than likely, he would react to my presence with hostility. I could easily be as deluded as the last woman to wield my sword, and be headed toward the same fate.

* * *

As we drew closer to King’s Landing we encountered more commercial traffic on the road and fewer bandits. Twice we passed small patrols of Lannister soldiers; they simply looked for would-be robbers and greeted us politely, each time warning that two women travelling alone needed to be very careful. I was glad that I did not have to kill them.

I expected that we would find nicer lodgings closer to the city. A small inn stood alone, with a stable and small fenced yard. All of the buildings were of stone and well made; we appeared to be the only visitors.

We dismounted and left all four horses standing in front of the inn; I asked them to remain in place and they as usual agreed. I scanned the inn and found no guests present, only an adult man who seemed to be the owner and a very worried woman I took to be his wife. One more set of thoughts could have been a child, or a child-like adult; they seemed somewhat disturbed to me.

The innkeeper greeted us at the door, his wife standing behind him. He was a tall man, steeply stoop-shouldered with curly gray hair. She was smaller, slender and much younger than he, with yellow hair, small breasts and an extremely nervous demeanor that made it very unpleasant to receive her thoughts.

Inviting us in, the innkeeper declared himself very pleased to see us. After exchanging pleasantries Tansy and I went back outside to take care of the horses, brushing all four, cleaning their hooves and giving them buckets of the grain known as “oats” to eat. The inn had a very well-kept and well-supplied stable, but oddly, no other horses were present. After we returned our host bade us to sit at a large table in the otherwise empty common room while he prepared Evening Meal and regaled us with tales of his life.

He had been the top-rated chef in King’s Landing, he said, working at a well-known establishment called the Black Destrier. I looked at Tansy. _Never heard of it_ , she thought very hard so that I could understand, _or him_. _Or anybody rating chefs, either._ I nodded to show that I had received her thoughts.

Prior to that, he had been captain of one of the King’s warships and had won many battles against pirates. He also painted many fine pictures and wrote popular adventure tales. This seemed unlikely; I did not believe these people knew about printing, let alone publishing. I supposed they had to have some way of spreading their stories – Tansy, Ned and Gendry had all made reference to adventure tales, though I knew that Gendry could not read.

I did not know what to make of our host. His thoughts said that he thoroughly believed these claimed achievements to be true, but with the feverish edge that usually denotes a delusional mind. Telepathy does not, exactly, allow one to tell truth from lies though that is often the practical outcome. What it does reveal is whether the subject believes something to be true. If they are mistaken, or deluded, that will not be immediately obvious. Barsoom has mentally ill people, but they are not common. Here, they seemed to thrive and to exist in abundance.

Whatever the truth of the innkeeper’s boasts, the food was indeed quite good: small round pieces of pig meat he called “medallions” in a very fine wine-based sauce, served over a boiled grain he called “rice.” The innkeeper joined us with a glass of wine – an actual glass rather than the goblets or mugs that seemed common here – and continued to tell us of his accomplishments while his wife hovered nervously behind him, continuously rubbing one hand over the other. She thought us unable to resist his charms, and that we would soon join him in sex games of some sort. I could not determine what this entailed without deeper probing, and did not care enough to try. He did have excellent wine, much smoother than the thick and viscous liquid that often went by that name.

After we finished our meal, the innkeeper wanted to show us his art: still-life paintings of ships mixed with odd paintings and charcoal drawings of horses that looked like people. They had eyes and sometimes breasts and hands like people, but their lower half was always that of a horse. They stood on two legs, with the painting’s focus usually on the part known as the “ass.”

The ship drawings fascinated me; such vessels once plied the seas of Barsoom but my planet’s oceans had been dry for tens of thousands of years. John Carter had told me that ships were among the most beautiful things on his planet, and I saw that reflected in these paintings despite the innkeeper’s middling skill with a brush. They had sails to catch the wind, and some were powered by large wooden sticks as well. Cutting through the water, throwing up a spray of foam, I could see hints of the beauty John Carter had described. I hoped that we would see real ships soon.

Next, the innkeeper wanted us to read his adventure stories. Tansy took a scroll but I pleaded my inability to read; literacy was rare in these lands and Tansy sent me a bitter thought wishing she had thought to say the same. She read through the first part of the story and made some non-committal sounds, and then noted our extreme tiredness.

“I’m afraid my eyes are just too sore tonight,” she said. “I’d like to read this in the morning though.”

“I’m eager to hear what you think,” he said. “I’ve been told it’s the best story ever written.”

I wondered who might have told him this, as few people of these lands were capable of reading, but he accepted that we needed sleep and his wife showed us to our room. She seemed relieved when we accepted a single room with but one bed, assuming that we preferred sex with one another and therefore would not be attracted to her husband. She need not have worried on that score.

The bed had a thick cover known as a “comforter,” and a very soft mattress underneath. The innkeeper’s wife brought us a tub and many containers of hot water, and we enjoyed a bath before curling up under the comforter, unclothed as was our usual habit.

“How bad was his story?” I whispered in Tansy’s ear.

“Worse,” she whispered back. “Story you might recognize. A man’s flying machine falls out of the sky. He wakes up in a strange world, finds he’s been turned into a horse-man, runs around swinging a sword and fighting an evil wizard. Even though his hands have been turned into hooves. And he has sex with horse-women, and fox-women, and deer-women. I didn’t read far enough to tell if there were any goat-women.”

“I do not have a horse’s ass.”

“Remember that the next time you’re upset that you landed on this planet. It could have been worse.” 

* * *

I slept well, until late into the night when my telepathic sense altered me that someone had entered our room. The figure radiated a great deal of anger, anxiety and jealousy. It moved over to our bed, where I lay curled up behind Tansy’s back, my right arm around her mid-section. The figure held a knife in one hand, and planned to kill us as we slept. I watched through my eyelashes as the killer bent over to peel back the comforter and stab Tansy in the chest, long hair dropping over the figure’s shoulder to dangle next to the bed.

Before the stabbing could commence, I grabbed the hair in my right hand and pulled it sharply downward. The intruder’s head smacked into the bed’s wooden sideboard with a loud thumping sound and his or her body slumped to the floor.

I leapt out of bed, wearing nothing, and grabbed the intruder by the head, ready to smash it into the floor. Before I could do so, I saw that it was the innkeeper’s nervous wife and that she had fallen on her knife, the handle of which now protruded from the center of her own chest. Her dead eyes stared at me, as vacant as they had been in life.

As I confronted this scene, I picked up my horse’s thoughts. Someone was trying to tie her in her stall, and she resisted. I dropped the corpse, awakened Tansy and told her to gather our belongings. Then I crawled out of the window onto the roof, still naked but now carrying my sword. It was a short drop to a small yard between the inn and its stable.

No one was about, and I hurriedly entered the stable to find my mare tied tightly in her stall with lines leading to a bridle and hobbles on her front and back feet as well. With my horse so secured and unable to move or kick, a man in a strange costume stood directly behind her atop a small piece of furniture known as a “stool.” It was the innkeeper, and his thoughts showed him thoroughly involved in a bizarre fantasy scenario.

“What are you doing to my horse?” I demanded.

“She wanted me,” he answered, his voice muffled by the costume’s headpiece.

“What?”

“She needed a stallion.”

He stepped down off the stool and out of the stall, and now I could see the costume. He wore a large covering over his head, shaped like the head of a black horse. Close-fitting black robes covered the rest of his body, open in front to display his engorged sex organ.

“You could use a stallion, too. You really need to put on the doe suit, but that can’t be helped now. Turn around and I’ll give you what you need.”

I still had my sword in my hand, and I did not think about what I did next. With a quick twist of my wrist, I sliced off most of his sex organ. It flopped to the ground and he screamed in pain, covering the gushing wound with both of his hands as he sank to his knees and then onto his side. Blood pooled underneath him.

Tansy arrived just as he sank to the ground, out of breath with her arms wrapped around our possessions. She dropped them on some straw not yet fouled by horse waste, and handed my leggings to me.

“What in the hells happened here?”

“He . . .” I could not think of how to describe what I had seen. “He was trying to rape my horse. Then he wanted me to wear some sort of sex costume, and turn around so he could stick his sex organ into my ass.”

“He what?”

“He wanted to put his sex organ into my ass.”

“Before that.”

“He was trying to put his sex organ into my horse’s ass. So I cut it off.”

“You cut it off?”

“Yes, there it is on the ground.” It had grown much smaller, and now looked like the strange boneless creatures called “slugs” that could be seen on this planet’s plants early in the morning.

She now looked more closely at the innkeeper.

“What in the hells is he wearing?”

“He believes himself to be a horse-man creature known as The Black Destrier, a warrior prince of his people. His herd. Whatever one would call it. He claimed that my horse desired sex with him; he appears to have believed that to be true.”

“He’s a fucking lunatic.”

“Yes.”

“So he dressed up as a horse-person?”

“You can see for yourself,” I said. “He must have worked very hard on the costume.”

“He’ll bleed to death.”

“Should we treat his wound?”

Tansy sighed heavily.

“Stay here.”

She ran into the inn, and returned a few moments later carefully holding a large, broad-bladed knife for cutting meat known as a “cleaver” that she had heated in the kitchen fire, some rags and a jug of water.

“Roll him over.”

We turned him onto his back and pulled away his robes to reveal the ugly wound. I held his arms away from it and Tansy swiftly cleaned the area with the rags and water before she pressed the hot metal to the damaged area. The horse-man screamed before he lost consciousness, and I smelled burning meat.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“Yes, but he has fallen into a dream state. Lovely horse-women surround him. Some of them look like us. None resemble his wife.”

She shook her head.

“There was a bed in the back of the kitchen, hadn’t been used in a while. Put him there and let’s get away from this place.”

I hefted the innkeeper and placed him as Tansy instructed. I did not know if he would live or die, though the loss of blood had been extreme. Would he be able to urinate now that Tansy had cauterized the area? I had not thought to provide a channel.

“They were going to rob and kill us?” Tansy asked as I exited the inn.

“Rob us, possibly. Kill us, definitely. At least the wife wished to kill us. The man believes an evil wizard has injured him. He seems to think we are also horse-people.”

“You left the horse-head on him?”

“I did not think to remove it.”

“No matter. Let’s ride.”

“I did not mean to cut off his sex organ. He advanced on me and I was disgusted. It was a very ugly organ, narrow and bent to one side. Perhaps all male sex organs of your planet are ugly, I have not thought to study them. My sword moved before I thought about it.”

“No second guesses, Dejah. They committed crimes, they suffered for it. It’s not up to you to sort out their level of guilt.”

“They were not able to defend themselves,” I said. “The innkeeper was not responsible for his actions.”

“That crazy blonde didn’t look at you and see a warrior. She saw two women, and in this world, Dejah, that means two victims. Don’t you go turning inward with your guilty thoughts – she died with her own knife in her heart. She didn’t mean for us to ever see the morning. You said it yourself, the crazy innkeeper wanted to stick his cock up your ass. You protected us – and your horse. End of story.”

I did my best to follow her advice. I had to soothe my mare’s fear and re-assure her that the bad man had gone away – horses do not like to contemplate death – before we could mount up. We rode out before we had to explain the bodies to anyone else who came along. As we rounded the inn, a door opened and a small voice called out, “Mama? Where are you? Where is Papa?”

Tansy grabbed my mare’s bridle and pulled us into the night. 

* * *

I smelled King’s Landing before I saw the city walls. An incredible reek of shit emanated from the city, along with a heavy pall of smoke. Somehow, shit smells worse on this planet than on Barsoom. The death rate from disease in such a place must have been astronomical, but Tansy explained that war had devastated the countryside and many people had fled to the city to escape the violence. That in turn had resulted in an overcrowded city, one suffering from unemployment, crime and a lack of food as well as poor sanitation.

“You have lived in King’s Landing yourself?”

“I must have been eight-and-ten. I was beautiful, I could dance, and I’d grown these,” she touched her breasts, “and I’d been working for my mother for about four years at that point. She sold me to a brothel in the big city.”

“Your mother sold you? I thought slavery was not allowed in Westeros.”

It was legal in Helium and widely practiced; my family owned a great many slaves and they had tended me since I first emerged from my egg. I had rarely given it much thought; when I had, I had wished that the institution did not exist but I had done nothing to abolish it. My sister Thuvia had been enslaved and once she had been freed and restored to her former status, I had forgotten the travails of the slave class. As Helium’s lone princess and lead science advisor to my grandfather I had, potentially, a great deal of influence. Yet at best I had spoken out at royal councils to curb its excesses; I had never thought to challenge its fundamental existence.

John Carter had considered slavery part of the social order imposed on mankind, whether of Barsoom or Jasoom, by the god in which he professes not to believe. He had fought in his nation’s civil war for the faction which wished to not merely retain slavery but extend it to parts of their nation where it was not allowed. John Carter disdained the dark-skinned people of Dirt, considering them lesser beings who benefitted from their enslavement by his own light-skinned race. On Barsoom both the dark-skinned First Born and white-skinned Therns hold such racist beliefs, considering my own red-skinned people fit only to be eaten.

John Carter had forged a friendship with the Thark chieftain Tars Tarkas, but out of hearing of his friend referred to the green-skinned Tharks with what I came to understand were vile racist words that I will not repeat here. I did not like the Tharks either, but I felt that I had good reason: they had captured me, tortured me, and planned to eat me. I had never minded killing Tharks in battle, but had declined to join the secret hunts John Carter organized to seek out and exterminate small bands of green-skinned people.

“Slavery’s not legal,” Tansy answered, not noticing my distraction. Or perhaps she had simply become used to my habits. “There are ways around that. In my case, and that of many whores in the bigger King’s Landing brothels, there was a legal contract. I was obliged to work for a woman named Chataya. I couldn’t leave without paying a penalty that equaled what I would make for the remainder of the contract, which made it damned near impossible to quit since it automatically extended every year. My contract was never sold, but it could have been, and I would have had no say in the matter.”

I had assumed this planet to be as primitive in all of its social constructs as it had shown itself in its technology. And while the treatment of prostitutes horrified me, the scientist within me had to take note of the sophisticated legal arrangement that had been used to tie Tansy to her employer. These people were not backward in every respect; when committing evil they could be very advanced.

“A man named Littlefinger,” Tansy continued to ignore my wandering mind, “who owned brothels in King’s Landing and in some of the Free Cities offered Chataya a great deal of money for me. He was a constant customer despite owning his own houses where he could fuck for free, but he paid Chataya huge sums to reserve me, which meant a lot of money for me too.”

“You were his favorite?”

“Sort of. And this is where it gets pretty sickening. Catelyn Tully, the Stone Heart, was my sister. I look a great deal like her, before, you know, she died and rotted. Littlefinger had been fostered with the Tullys, and became obsessed with her when they grew a little older. Deeply obsessed.”

“Did you know him as a child?”

“Not really. I went with the Whents to River Run, the Tully seat, a few times and played with the noble children there. Catelyn kept her siblings away from the little bastard, and Littlefinger did whatever she said. So, I knew who he was, but not much more than that. I don’t think he remembered me from our childhood, and I didn’t remind him lest it make him even more obsessed.”

“He would pretend you were your sister?”

On Barsoom we are very familiar with the concept of role-playing during sex. John Carter had found the idea perverse and obscene, as he did most of our sexual practices.

“Exactly. He made me dress like her, and then beg him to fuck me, and tell him how much I hated my betrothed and my husband and preferred his tiny cock to theirs.”

“That sounds . . .”

“Sick?”

“Yes.”

“It was, but it was pretty mild compared to some of the things a whore gets asked to do. Our friend back at the inn probably paid someone to dress up like a horse and take it up the ass. And there are powerful men who enjoy abuse, and will pay well to have a beautiful woman insult them, smack them on the ass with a rolled-up story book, piss on them, treat them as a child or a prisoner. One rich orange-skinned buffoon with a cock shaped like a little mushroom once paid me to piss on a bed because one of his rivals, a far better man than he, had slept in it.”

“Your beauty made you successful?”

“This is where I teach you more of our world. When you say that, I’m supposed to deny that I think I’m beautiful.”

“Even though you are, and believe yourself so.”

“Right. It’s called false modesty, and it’s a big part of good manners. Men can make themselves out to be more than they are. In fact, they almost always do. But women must make themselves less.”

Did this society give _any_ advantages to its women?

“When everyone can read thoughts,” I said, “there is no false modesty.”

“I can see that. But to answer the question, not really. A beautiful whore is intimidating. The most successful are just pretty enough to be attractive, but you always want a potential customer thinking, ‘I could fuck her,’ not ‘she’s out of my league.’ It certainly helped me when I was a courtesan, sort of a higher class of prostitute reserved for the very rich and powerful.”

“Do you miss it?”

“For an exotic beauty from the stars, you are insightful.”

“I am learning more about you every day.”

“I suppose you are. And yes, sometimes it did make me feel powerful. I like being desired. I’d guess that you do, too.”

“Sometimes. When I choose to be.”

“Yes, when you choose. And that’s the thing. I didn’t get to choose. I had a little leeway to refuse a client, but not always. And once you’re in the room, what are you going to do?

“I miss the money and the power – I even fucked the king, who asked for me by name more than once – but I don’t miss the life. I’d rather be riding around with you.”

“I am glad to hear that,” I said. “How did you escape?”

“The same way it happens in the storybooks. My mother died, she left me her brothel and all her savings. I used her money and what I’d saved myself to buy out my contract, then went back to Stoney Sept to take over the brothel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, Dejah Thoris meets the queen.


	18. Chapter Six (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter weds his princess.

Chapter Six (John Carter)

When I retired to my chambers, I found both Calye and Doreah awaiting me, sitting well apart and each endeavoring not to acknowledge the other’s existence. I considered beating them, as is a slave-owner’s right, but decided to heed my bed-warmer’s advice instead. Preparing to make love to my princess could not hurt, I reasoned, and I could be avoiding future problems. And it would probably be wise to relieve some of my tension with one or both of them before my first night with Daenerys.

“Tomorrow, I’ll marry the princess,” I said, cutting to the point. “Is she prepared?”

“She thinks you handsome and honorable,” Doreah said. “She has no idea what’s about to happen to her.”

Doreah disliked Daenerys and had considered teaching my princess to act as a depraved whore but Doreah feared, probably correctly, that I would kill her for such an affront. Doreah hated me and truly believed that I would hurt Daenerys badly, both physically and emotionally, and wished to spare the girl that pain. It pains me to admit that her firm belief in that likelihood shook me.

“Then how do we avoid that?” I asked. “This is your specialty.”

“It is,” Doreah nodded. “If only you’ll pay attention.”

“Show me,” I said. “Either yourself, or guide me using Calye.”

Not wishing to take my manhood inside her again, she told Calye to strip. Feeling the revulsion in her thoughts excited me far more than the anticipation in Calye’s.

“No,” I said. “Show me yourself.”

She urged me to allow Daenerys to straddle me, as it would keep my weight off her. I could admire her lovely body and kiss her more easily. The whore showed me a secret woman’s place, that evoked ecstasy when stroked.

“She has to be wet,” Doreah said. “You have to attend to her needs first. It’s terribly painful otherwise.”

“That’s why,” I realized, “you use the gel.”

“Yes,” she said. “A woman must, when her lover doesn’t excite her.”

She intended to insult me, but I cared nothing for her sexual pleasure. Daenerys was a different matter, however. While it is improper for a woman to take joy from the act of procreation, neither did I wish my princess to feel pain.

“Use your tongue,” Doreah said. “Right where I showed you.”

“I shall not,” I said. “A gentleman does not participate in such depravity.”

“Then what do you want to do about it? Have me come in and fluff her?”

“Fluff her?”

“Get her ready,” Calye said, still naked and seated next to the bed. “With her tongue, she’ll get the princess wet for you.”

“That is perverse,” I said, even as I grew hard from the image created in my mind, of Doreah kissing Daenerys. I pushed Doreah onto her back, and entered her. This time she did not slap me but instead stared at the ceiling and fantasized multiple ways in which I might die. I finished inside her; she didn’t cry, but Calye did.

* * *

I could tell no difference between the just-ended funeral feast and the just-begun wedding feast; the Dothraki gorged themselves on roasted meats, guzzled barrels of wine and ale, and openly engaged in fights and in intercourse with equal lack of shame.

When the sun reached its peak, Illyrio presented Daenerys. She wore a sheer white dress than showed her womanly curves, and we stood together and recited the traditional vows. I declared her to be the moon of my life, and she named me her sun and stars. I felt as though I had done this before, but I knew that I had never been so happy as I was in that moment.

Afterwards we sat on the raised dais while our followers and friends presented wedding gifts. Illyrio gave my princess a set of three dragon’s eggs, claiming them to be real though fossilized. This intrigued me, and he certainly believed his own tale, but it saddened me that my friend had fallen for such an obvious fraud. I hoped that he had not paid too much for them, though they were attractive baubles and appeared to be extremely well-made when I examined one. I recalled hearing of gigantic ancient creatures known as “dinosaurs” that had been exterminated in a cataclysmic world-wide flood. Perhaps these were the animals Illyrio called “dragons,” and these eggs actual artifacts. But I doubted it.

Mormont gave me a fine leather-bound multi-volume history of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, which I truly appreciated. I would have to learn more of my new realm, and I instructed my steward Vyros, who simpered behind the dais, to make sure these would be included in the saddlebags of my pack horse when the khalasar rode away.

Other gifts included horses and weapons, all of them of exquisite quality. I looked forward to testing my skills with archery; somehow this seemed a weapon I had not used in a very long time, but I knew I had once been quite good with a bow. My new khaleesi received gifts of weapons as well; I saw with approval that she had been taught Dothraki custom and passed them to me.

Frightened by the strange customs of the Dothraki, the noise and the joyful sex and violence, Daenerys said little but managed to avoid outwardly cringing and giving offense. We shared meat and wine from the same platters and cups, and passed choice portions to our core followers: my _ko_ s, Mormont and Illyrio.

Several khals of lesser hordes also appeared to offer gifts. Chief among them was a man named Moro, who Mormont told me led one of the largest khalasars. I made a point of thanking him and sharing grilled lamb with him off my platter. I brought up no future plans, only talking of swordplay and horses. Should the opportunity arise later, I would attempt to incorporate his khalasar into my own. He appeared experienced and capable and I would prefer that he serve as my ko. Or he could die on my sword if he preferred.

“I have a gift for you as well,” I told my bride as the sun began to set. I had sent Irri to fetch the silver mare, and she rode it to the foot of the dais and dismounted with a smooth flourish. I stood, extended my arm for my princess and escorted her to its side.

“Do you know horses, my love?” I asked, appending the endearment without forethought. She did not object.

“Very little,” she said in her soft, musical voice. “I believe I rode as a small child, but have little memory of those times.”

“This silver mare,” I said, “is one of the finest animals I have ever seen. She is as good-natured as she is lovely, much like the princess who will ride her. And this is Irri, who is now your slave and will head your personal household. She is a teacher of riding with skills equal to your new mount, and has earned my trust.”

Irri smiled when I indicated her, not understanding our speech, and knelt before my princess.

“It will be my honor to serve you,” she said in Dothraki. I translated for Daenerys. 

“Please rise,” Daenerys said. “I am pleased to meet you as well.”

Again, I translated. Irri seemed as happy with my new princess as I. Only later would Doreah corrupt her and turn that once-loyal heart against us.

* * *

With the ceremonies complete, I rode to my mansion on Demon, with Daenerys beside me on her new silver mare. The Dothraki formed a long corridor to see us off, for once quieting their clamor. My new wife remained quiet on the ride, and when I helped her down from her mare. She took my arm and we entered my home.

Doreah awaited us in the entry way, having sent away all the other servants as I had directed her.

“What . . . what should I call you?” Daenerys asked now that we were finally alone. Or close to alone, with only Doreah accompanying her. Her voice tinkled in my ears like soft music.

“‘My chieftain’,” I instantly replied, though I did not know from whence the phrase came. “And you are my princess.”

“Do I please you, my chieftain?”

“More than I can say,” I said. “May I kiss you?”

“I think I’d like that.”

Gently, as Doreah had shown me and Calye had screeched at me, I tilted her head upward with one finger and put my lips against hers. Her thoughts showed her deeply nervous over what was to come; would it hurt her? Would she please me?

“The Dothraki say that all important events must take place under the open sky,” I said. “My servants have prepared a soft bed in the central garden, open to the sky but safe from any eyes but ours. Shall we go there?”

“Yes, my chieftain.”

I became aroused at those words, but recalled Doreah’s cautions. I held out my arm and Daenerys took it, and we headed for the central garden, with Doreah following a few paces behind.

When we reached the bed, Daenerys gasped with pleasure. My servants had placed fragrant night-blooming white flowers close to its edges. A bright night sky arced overhead. Doreah stepped forward and unfastened Daenerys’ dress, starting at the back. Soon my princess stood before me, perfectly nude, and perfect.

Again, I kissed her, and then removed my own clothing.

“Would you like Doreah to remain?” I asked. “She explained what’s to come?”

“She . . . she did. You wouldn’t mind if she helped?”

“It’s painful, the first time,” I said. “I would ease that for you, if at all possible.”

“Then please, let her stay.”

Doreah eased Daenerys onto the bed and kissed her, by their thoughts not for the first time. I found the sight of two beautiful women embracing both highly improper and highly arousing. The slave then knelt before my queen; I did not wish to see this and so I knelt as well, but on the edge of the bed close to Daenerys to that her body blocked my view of Doreah. I kissed my bride, and as Doreah had instructed I carefully caressed her perfect, small and firm bosom.

Soon Doreah rose from her knees.

“Gently, my khal,” she said.

I put my hand behind my new wife’s back and slid her onto the bed, crossing my leg over hers to enter her. I kissed her again and pushed myself inside her. She gasped, and I found it difficult to press harder without hurting her. And then the resistance eased.

“Slowly,” Doreah whispered in my ear, her hand on my back. “Gently. Glide inside her. Feel how much you love her.”

I finished inside her, feeling pleasure from the release as I never had with a woman. Daenerys gasped again and dug her fingernails into my back. When I had exhausted my seed, I pulled out and lay next to my wife.

“You may go,” I told Doreah. “Return at first light.”

In the morning, I saw that Daenerys had bled, the sign that she had been pure when I satisfied my rights as her husband. Unwilling to subject my dear wife to further pain so soon after losing her virginity, I took Doreah while Daenerys slept next to us. I finished between Doreah’s ample breasts while I reveled in the whore’s furious thoughts and gazed at my lovely bride. My princess did not awaken.

* * *

I left Doreah and Daenerys in the garden bed, dressed and met over breakfast with Jhaqo, Pono, Mormont and a younger _ko_ named Aggo. Jhaqo and Pono had named him as the most capable of the lesser _ko_ s.

“My brothers,” I said, following Dothraki usage, “we ride tomorrow.”

“To battle?” Jhaqo asked.

“To find it, anyway,” I said. “We ride to Myr, and demand tribute. Then on to the Disputed Lands. There we will find the armed companies who fight for pay, defeat them, and force them to our will or destroy them. We will do so for only a short period, then we ride for Vaes Dothrak when the grass has greened.”

None of my _ko_ s seemed surprised. I noted that all of them, for all their barbarian ways, seemed familiar with the meal before them, the eating utensils and the cups of coffee. Drogo’s khalasar had been less traditionally Dothraki than he had pretended.

“Force them to our will?” Aggo asked. “What is our will?”

“You are aware that I am the Stallion Who Mounts the World.”

“It is known,” Irri said, standing behind me. All four men repeated the words.

“The Dothraki are great warriors,” I said. “And my khalasar will be proven the greatest of them. Horse-warriors can do many things, but we will need men on foot to take cities, and then to garrison them in my name. I would not see Dothraki on foot unless it come to a dire emergency.”

“I have fought in sieges,” Pono said. “It is no fit place for a horseman.”

“It is known,” I agreed. Irri repeated it. “I want the Dothraki to fight as they do best. Let the crawlers who will come to serve me,” I used a disparaging Dothraki term for foot soldiers, “do as they do best.”

“We have no crawlers,” Aggo said. “You aim to gain additional men, who are not Dothraki.”

“I do,” I said. “We have a destiny, my brothers, and it is to conquer the world. Not only the Dothraki. It will be a glorious adventure, and by its end we will have fought as brothers alongside many other men, both men we have known and battled for many years, and men we have yet to meet, defeat and bring into our herd.”

“You are my khal,” Aggo said. “And I agree that it is an exciting vision. But we have never fought with the Lamb Men, only against them.”

“We’ll need to practice this,” I said. “Even as we learn to wield an arakh, to ride to war whether alone or among our brothers. It is practice that makes a warrior, is it not?”

“It is known,” Aggo agreed. Irri again took up her chant, and the men followed.

“For this first campaign,” I said, “Pono’s khas will form what’s called the vanguard. You will lead us forward, your men will provide outriders so that no surprises await us. Find the enemy, bring me prisoners when I need to question them, and be sure that no enemy scouts get past your outriders, or live to tell of it should they do so. You can do this?”

“I can do this,” Pono agreed.

“There is to be no looting, no taking of slaves. That comes later. When we ride to battle, we remain alert.”

“I understand,” he said. “That is as it should be.”

“Jhaqo, your khas is the main body. You ride behind Pono, no closer than one hour’s ride, no more than four hours’ ride. Do not be so close that your men will become confused with Pono’s should he be attacked, nor so far away that you cannot ride to his aid. Your khas is the striking power of the khalasar, kept in tight formation for the greatest impact.”

Jhaqo nodded.

“Aggo, all the minor _ko_ s will report to you,” I said. “Those who do not wish to do so are welcome to challenge me and set their own rules when they become khal. You will provide men to defend the camp followers, the women, children and old, and most importantly the herds. You will be sure that at all times a strong rear guard trails the khalasars, including outriders who assure that we are not followed.”

“I can do this, my khal,” Aggo said, pleased with his promotion.

“It is the most complicated task,” I cautioned. “All Dothraki must know that their women and most of all their horses are safe when they ride into battle. A man should worry only for his own sword. And I do not wish to be surprised by a crafty enemy. The rear flank is the most vulnerable.”

“It is known,” Irri added.

“In battle,” I went on, “we will also operate with three khas. Jhaqo in the center, Pono on the right and Aggo on the left. Aggo, you will also have to detail men to defend our herds and women. Later we will use our crawlers for this task.”

All three nodded.

“Eventually I will choose blood riders,” I said, “when I have seen my khalasar in battle. In addition, each of you will choose two hundred of your very best fighters and send them to me. Choose well, for I will soon know if they are not the best and you will answer to me for their failings. They will accompany me in battle, to strike with force at a place and moment of my choosing. I do not intend to allow all of the glory and joy of battle to go to my _ko_ s. I am your khal, and I fight alongside my khalasar.

“I want each of you to be ready to move separately, on my orders. At times, I may wish Jhaqo to remain in place while Pono and Aggo advance around either flank. At others, Jhaqo may retreat to lure an enemy forward, or strike first to disrupt him.”

They looked confused.

“The old ways are no longer enough,” I said. “To conquer the world, we must add guile to our strength. I will teach you these methods, we will practice them, and you will see them bring us victory. Just as a single warrior must maneuver, so must a khalasar. You have seen the man who has but one tactic, a forward rush?”

“I have seen him die,” Jhaqo said. “No matter his size or strength.”

“So it is with a khalasar,” I said, “or an army. As you know, I lost many memories in the desert. I know that I have been a soldier for many years, and a commander of armies. These are the methods of victory, taught to me by a great general of my old homeland of Virginia.”

I drank more coffee, and looked at each of them.

“One last instruction. Each of you will be responsible for seeing that your men and horses are properly fed and watered. I will not lose strength before we reach the battlefield. Every Dothraki is vital to our destiny. Men die in battle; it is known and it is inevitable. I will not see a proud warrior felled by disease or hunger. Do not disappoint me in this.”

They had no idea how to accomplish this, though they silently acknowledged its wisdom.

“We will obtain slaves,” I said, “skilled in numbers and writing, to assist. Jorah the Andal will direct their work.”

“Men die,” Pono said. “It has always been so.”

“It is known,” I agreed. “And I would give them all a warrior’s death. No warrior should shit his life away in sickness, no warhorse should die of the colic or the hoof disease.”

“The Lamb Men die the same way,” Jhaqo said. “Perhaps even more of them than of us.”

“It is known,” I said again. “I will show you how to lessen this both among us and among the Lamb Men who come to follow me. It is my destiny to make the Dothraki strong. This we shall do.”

Once again, Irri reminded them that this was known. All present agreed.

* * *

I returned to my tent with Jorah, Belwas and Calye. Irri would prepare Daenerys for the ride to come, and I directed her to select however many slaves from the mansion’s staff that she needed to keep my princess comfortable. Or as comfortable as a Dothraki khaleesi could expect to be on campaign.

I had my household warriors strike Drogo’s sumptuous tent and send it and its luxurious furnishings to my mansion for storage. I would use a smaller tent, though still bigger than the usual Dothraki shelter, while on campaign. It would have to house me, my princess and her household along with Belwas, Mormont and Calye. My maps and a large conference table would complete the furnishings.

Drogo had kept at least two dozen slaves to handle his tent and his baggage, and I found that several of them had also managed the march routes and food supplies of the khalasar, relieving some of my worries. I assigned them to Mormont, who would act as my army’s chief of staff. Drogo had also apparently taken a chef with him on campaign, as well as the one assigned to his mansion. I sent the man back to my palace; I did not doubt his culinary skills but he would not be needed. One of his assistants could easily prepare the simple foods I preferred on campaign.

My initial impressions of Drogo had been misleading. I had taken him for a rough-hewn barbarian, but exposure to the pleasures of Pentos had apparently made him somewhat effete. He had been a great swordsman nonetheless, and I felt pleased to have killed him rather than dying in the arena myself.

Illyrio Mopatis arrived in his litter shortly before noon, bringing more maps and some final words of advice.

“The magisters of Pentos are eager to see you leave,” he said. “They fear, correctly, that you mean to overthrow them.”

“Were I more sure of my commanders and men,” I said, “I would take the city now, simply by rushing the open gates. When I’m confident in the Dothraki and have trustworthy infantry to garrison the city with suitable commanders for them then we’ll dismiss the prince and the council. Be ready with choices for the civilian government here and in Myr. Hopefully less corrupt than yourself.”

“Everyone is less corrupt than myself,” he smiled. “I have some candidates in mind. If you can show immediate benefits to your rule, your path shall be greatly eased.”

“We’ll start by conscripting all of the bravos,” I said. “And we’ll let shipbuilding contracts right away. That should put some cash in the right hands, and improve security in the streets. We’ll enroll volunteers as soon as I have officers to train them, and they’ll need weapons, clothing and such. I’m afraid we’ll be taxing your friends to pay for all this.”

“My friend,” Illyrio said, “you speak with the master of tax evasion. I’ll see that your taxes are paid.”

“But not by you.”

“It’s only fair,” he said. “Yet I promise you that my businesses in Pentos will pay like any other. But my management percentage applies there as well.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” I agreed. “Just make sure that the army and fleet are funded.”

“The moment you militarize Pentos,” Illyrio cautioned, “you’ll be at war with Braavos.”

“It has to come eventually,” I said. “More reason to wait until the Dothraki are ready before we take Pentos.”

He nodded.

“I’ll continue to collect interesting people for you, my friend. How will I reach you, should there be a change in circumstances here or in Westeros?”

I should have anticipated that need myself.

“I’ll leave a small number of Dothraki at my new mansion,” I said. “With orders to carry messages. I’ll send word to them with our location and direction.”

“The messages won’t be secured,” he pointed out.

“True enough,” I said. “You’ll have to write carefully.”

Before leaving, Illyrio donated ten of his Unsullied and ten of the guards I had trained to serve as my own bodyguards. After some thought I detailed them to guard my mansion, rather than insult my Dothraki by surrounding myself with foreign soldiers. I kept only one man, an Unsullied eunuch bearing the name Orange Cat. The Unsullied changed names within their company every day to random combinations of a color and a type of vermin but I ordered him to keep the one under which I had first encountered him. In his thoughts he kept changing his name, but at least he answered to Orange Cat. I knew him to be quite intelligent and he had been the most talkative of the guards, though that still made him nearly silent. I thought that I might need his advice and knowledge should we have an opportunity to acquire more of these excellent slave-soldiers. As the only man among the Unsullied who could ride a horse, I had had little choice but to select him.

My princess would of course accompany me, and her safety was paramount. Strong Belwas would serve as her personal bodyguard, with Irri, Jhiqui and Doreah as her handmaids. I chose ten of my household warriors to also protect her; eventually I would name blood riders for Daenerys, probably from among their number.

We spent the night in my tent, and I wished to have Daenerys again. Her thoughts showed her eager to please me, and frightened that she had not, but she had been left very sore by her first night of marital passion. I left her to sleep in her own section of the tent, with her handmaidens about her. I took Calye to relieve my needs, cautioning her to remain utterly silent. She was pathetically grateful, having imagined that her time as my whore was done, and did not cry when I finished on her belly.

I rose with the dawn, to find Pono awaiting with reports of road conditions. Eager to prove his acceptance of my new methods and aggressive plans, he had dispatched his first outriders just before midnight, scouting the roads south. They found no armed bands within several hours’ ride, only the usual farm and merchant traffic. A city the size of Pentos depended on a constant stream of provisions from the surrounding countryside, and the roads carried food and fodder even through the night hours.

Knowing of Calye’s jealousy of Daenerys and hatred for Doreah, I had her ride with the baggage train until Irri could teach her better horsemanship. With Mormont, Orange Cat and a half-dozen of my household warriors, I rode along the entire length of the khalasar. As I expected, the Dothraki moved with a form of semi-organized chaos, the camp followers intermingled with the warriors. That would have to change.

The weather remained clear, and for the next six days the khalasar moved southward. I made love to my princess on each night, yet the need to proceed gently did not fully satisfy my needs. To relieve the pressure, on the third night I rode into open ground with Calye on the back of my horse and took her under the stars. She cried again, only partly due to the painful stones digging into her bare back.

Each afternoon I halted the procession and brought the khalasar into battle formation, and by the third time they reacted with reasonable speed. The horde was large enough that the riders on either end of the formation could not see their khal at the center. We would use flags and dispatch riders to transmit my will to the far flanks. I took them through some simple maneuvers including flanking moves, false retreats and their favorite, the massed charge.

They also showed me their archery skills, and I tried my hand with the bow as well. I found that my muscles remembered what my mind did not and soon I was placing arrows in the center of the targets the Dothraki had erected. The bows had surprising power for their size, but the archers told me that while the arrows would penetrate chain mail, providing they had a heavy steel head, they would only rarely break through steel plate.

I noticed that relatively few of the Dothraki carried lances, with fewer than half armed with bows and most with only their arakh. Mormont had no idea why; Jhaqo explained that since Dothraki provided their own weapons, not all wished to carry more than an arakh.

“It takes many gifts, to obtain an arakh,” he said, drawing his own over his back. I noted that this blade looked more like a scimitar than the sickle-like weapon Drogo had wielded in our single combat. I had seen both types carried by Dothraki in our camp, and been gifted with both.

“Drogo liked the moon blade,” Jhaqo said, referring to the sickle-sword. “And many of the young warriors copied him. Drogo had a slave to carry his moon blade, and did not worry that it will not fit in a scabbard. I and many others, though we have slaves of our own, do not wish them near us during battle.

“And I prefer the horse-arakh.” He held it up to glitter in the sun. “It reminds me of the old ways, of my grandfather and before, when Dothraki never left the Great Grass Sea. Those days are long gone, but this remains a superior weapon to the moon blade. It is deadly from horseback, doubly so against men on the ground. It is known.”

“So warriors with a moon blade,” I made the connection, “can’t carry lance or bow, as their hands are full.”

“One hand, anyway,” Jhaqo said, sheathing his weapon. “When they can only obtain one blade, they chose the moon blade to honor Drogo. I imagine that some will choose a straight sword of the Lamb Men now that they’ve seen you kill Drogo with it.”

“A man should carry the weapon with which he fights best,” I said, holding up my sword Steel Flame. “Moon blade, horse-arakh or long sword.”

“It is known,” Jhaqo agreed. “I am your _ko_ , and I own many blades: moon blades, horse-arakhs and swords of the Lamb Men both long and short and thick and wide. Not all have such choices; the youngest men have only one weapon.”

“I would like all of our warriors to be able to use lance, bow and arakh at will,” I said. “Were their khal to gift them all with weapons, this would be seemly?”

“Many khals do so,” Jhaqo said. “Drogo said his khalasar was too large to allow him to do this.”

I noted Jhaqo’s phrasing, and recalled Illyrio’s accounting of Drogo’s gold, along with the mansion, the tapestries and the two elite chefs. Jhaqo was likewise aware that Drogo had had the ability to arm his khalasar had he so chosen.

“Where do Dothraki obtain their weapons?” I asked. “I have seen few smiths among us.”

“They are honored free men,” Jhaqo said, “with warrior status. But they are kept busy making shoes for 100,000 horses. The cities gift us with weapons.”

“Jorah the Andal!” I called to my chief of staff, riding with my khaleesi and Irri some distance behind us. “Join us!”

I had noted Mormont paying close attention to my new wife, whose beauty fascinated him. He imagined laughable scenarios in which they could be together, despite the thirty years or more between them – he might, just barely, have been her grandfather. A man’s thoughts are his own, and so long as he did not act on them, he would not have to die for them. At any rate, he promptly spurred his horse and pulled up alongside me.

“My khal?” he asked. “How might I serve?”

“You know much of swords,” I began. He nodded. “A horse-arakh such as Jhaqo wields, of good quality, what would be its cost?”

Jhaqo held up the blade for Mormont’s appraisal.

“One gold dragon, one hundred silver stags,” he finally said. A dragon equaled 210 stags. “Perhaps half the cost of a trained, steady war-horse.”

“A Pentoshi tower equals a dragon?”

“Correct, my khal.”

“I would obtain new horse-arakhs for those who do not wield them,” I said. “It appears that we have enough gold in Illyrio’s vaults.”

I turned to Jhaqo, who had not been surprised at my mention of Drogo’s hoard.

“Which minor _ko_ would know much of weapons, and resent Aggo’s promotion? I would send him to Pentos to inspect the new weapons and assure me of their quality.”

My senior _ko_ thought for a moment.

“I would send no _ko_ ,” he finally said. “I would humbly suggest, my khal, Vorsakko the smith. He has grown too old to swing a hammer, and Drogo removed him as chief smith shortly before . . . your battle.”

“He is trustworthy?”

“I believe so,” Jhaqo said. “He has great resentment for Drogo, and no doubt welcomed your victory.”

I turned to Mormont.

“Summon Vorsakko to the command tent tonight,” I said. “If I approve of him, he shall return to Pentos with a message for Illyrio to begin discreetly acquiring weapons – horse-arakhs and lance-heads. He’ll remain at the mansion to approve the purchases.”

“Discreetly?” Mormont asked. “It’s no secret that Pentos arms the khalasars.”

“Should I buy 30,000 blades,” I searched for a metaphor, as skyrockets were unknown here, “the price will reach the clouds.”

Mormont nodded, impressed by my thinking. I looked back at Jhaqo.

“Who provides bows and lance-shafts?”

“The women make them,” he said. “Some are extremely skilled. They also fletch the arrows.”

“The quality is sufficient?”

“I have always found it so.”

I would increase the combat effectiveness of my men, and help bind them to me more tightly through the gift of weapons. Drogo had always had this ability, but looked more to his own comfort. Unlike my predecessor, I was not content with merely preparing the way for the Stallion Who Mounts the World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter goes to war.
> 
> Note re: Two kinds of arakh. I only learned after posting the first Carter chapters that the absolutely impractical sickle-blades of the Dothraki are fantasies of the moronic TV showrunners and not what Martin intended. So I had to explain that away by blaming it on Drogo. Jhaqo's arakh is what Martin had in mind.


	19. Chapter Thirteen (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris crosses a line.

Chapter Thirteen (Dejah Thoris)

Even as we neared the city and could see its walls, the road remained a muddy track. It was wider, but still unpaved. No one had even tried to fill the deep ruts caused by wagon traffic: when the grooves made the track impassable, wagon drivers simply steered around them, creating an ever-wider morass. Fortunately, the ground was fairly dry as we approached; it surely could not be crossed during rain.

Once we came within sight of the city, I began to pick up the thoughts of the people within: thousands, then tens of thousands of unfiltered, undampened thoughts. I had to ask Tansy to stop while I adjusted to the waves of mundane existence beating into my brain.

“Will you be able,” she asked, “to enter the city?”

“I believe so,” I said. “I must block out the thoughts I do not wish to receive in order to be able to function, yet at the same time I cannot block them all out. We will be in great danger if I cannot read any thoughts.”

“People here survive without reading thoughts all the time.”

“You have people here who cannot see?”

“Sure.”

“And they survive?”

“Not well,” she said, “usually, but they do.”

“Because they have long experience, yes? Often their entire lives?”

“And you’d be like someone who just got both of her eyeballs poked out and staggers around disoriented and in distress.”

“A disturbing image,” I said, “but essentially correct.”

We rode around the perimeter of the city, finally coming to a tavern featuring a large outdoor space with tables overlooking a wide river, where a family with many working children served fish. I ate several different kinds of grilled seafood, and enjoyed them all very much, along with what was called white wine. While I ate, I focused on building up my defenses against the pressing wave of loose thoughts coming out of King’s Landing.

After the fourth fish, I let my body relax and looked out over the river while sipping wine from a metal goblet. The wine was called “white,” but looked greenish-yellow to me. It was astringent, and I enjoyed the contrast of its taste to that of the fish.

I knew how to prepare my mind for what lay ahead; it was little different than the mental defenses we royal learn to repel hostile telepathic probes. It is not simple to keep up one’s screens while receiving the thoughts one wishes to read, but it has been the subject of thousands of years of study and practice. After a short time, I pronounced myself ready.

“You just wanted to finish your wine.”

“That is true,” I said, “but I would have done so without an excuse.”

King’s Landing had been built on the slopes of a large hill or a small mountain, with a complex of red buildings at its summit that Tansy said was the fortified royal palace. The walls were large, but simply-designed – fortifications not designed to repel cannon, firearms or airships looked very strange to my eye. They had been badly damaged at some point in the recent past and only partially repaired. Scaffolding had been erected at several points but no workers were present.

A great number of wagons and people on foot and on horseback gathered in front of the city gates to pass within. Guards wearing gold cloaks stood to the side and waved them past. One of them looked up as we passed; his thoughts pondered asking us to stop to be searched so that he could more easily look at our breasts, but he decided that the effort would be too great for the expected reward. I felt somewhat insulted.

Inside the gates, the smell and the crowds grew even greater. Tansy said we needed to find a stable for the horses; places offering stalls for rent lined the inside of the city walls to either side of the gate. We stopped at several stables before we found one where I was satisfied by the owner’s thoughts. The regularly-cleaned buildings offered good shelter for my horses, and the animals within told me that they had received adequate care.

The owner helped us stable them himself. He was a friendly man named Carl, who looked to be somewhat older than most people, with gray hairs around the fringe of a bald head.

“And what,” Carl asked me, “is this horse named?”

I had never given my horses names. That is not our way with thoats, and it never occurred to me to do any different here.

“Brown Horse.”

“And that one?”

“Gray Horse.”

“And those?”

“Other Brown Horse and White Horse.”

It saddened him to see such a pretty young woman with such a simple mind. Carl helped us brush down the horses and then invited us to eat with him. It had not been long since we had enjoyed our grilled fish, but I found myself hungry again.

He had only a little food, and I gave him a gold piece to buy more from a tavern nearby. I told him to bring back as much as he could buy with the gold. Tansy warned him that I would become upset if the meal included eggs. Carl returned with two serving girls from the tavern; between them they had several platters of roasted birds called geese plus vegetables, bread and pitchers of ale. The women went back to the tavern for a second load.

I liked the geese: the meat was dark and very rich, with crispy golden skin. As I ate one goose and then another Tansy asked him about his stable and the conditions in the city. I found I needed an extra cloth to wipe away all of the fat that ran out of the goose.

“By the gods,” Carl said. “Does she always eat that much?”

“Sometimes more,” Tansy assured him. “What’s new in King’s Landing?”

“That depends. What do you know?”

“That Cersei Lannister became queen,” Tansy said, “which must mean that her sons are dead. And we’ve heard rumors of war.”

“Many more than her sons died,” Carl told her. “A tremendous explosion of green flame destroyed the Sept of Baelor with most of the capital’s leading lights within. The High Sparrow, the Young Queen, Lord Tyrell, the Hand of the King, the Grand Maester. Many more. The Young King was so stricken with grief that he threw himself out of a window, or so they say. At least it’s known for sure that he went out the window and died.”

“What of the Lannister?” I asked.

“She means,” Tansy explained, “the Kingslayer.”

“He’s off leading the royal army,” Carl said, “conquering the Riverlands again. Why he didn’t become king, no one knows. There’s talk in the palace that the queen crowned herself even without his knowledge.”

“You know people,” Tansy asked, “in the palace?”

“Of course. I was in charge of the stable attached to the Tower of the Hand. Then young Chadworth was murdered and I sort of lost all reason to live. A while later I realized I needed purpose again and opened this place.”

“Who was Chadworth?”

“My grandson,” Carl said, wiping at tears in the corners of his eyes. “My beloved, only grandson. He had reached 10 years when the Starks killed him.”

I kept encountering victims of this Stark family. Bad enough that the boy was named Chadworth, but then to be murdered made for a woeful story. I continued to eat the delicious geese, and listened to their conversation.

“What happened?” Tansy asked.

“After King Robert died, Lord Stark was accused of treason against the new king. I don’t know the truth of that or not, but Lannister soldiers came to arrest him. Chadworth spotted the Hand’s spoiled young daughter, Arya Stark, escaping through the stables. When he accosted her, she stabbed him with a little sword right in the belly so deep that the point came out of his back. Then she stood over him and yelled, ‘Needle is mine. You can’t have Needle. So I stuck you with the pointy end!’

“I ran to him but it was too late. It took him three days to die; belly wounds are like that. My daughter, my sweet and lovely Montessa, threw herself off the city walls in her grief. I tried to drink myself to death, then starve myself to death, but finally I came back to life.”

I resolved that I would kill this Arya Stark, slayer of Chadworth, should I happen to meet her.

“Is there word,” Tansy continued, “of any armies threatening the city?”

“Some say the Tyrells and Dorne seek vengeance for the great explosion.”

“Two powerful families who hold sway to the south-west of here,” Tansy explained to me. “Mostly known for fighting one another if I recall correctly.”

“You do,” Carl confirmed. “They’ve also lost many of their leaders. It would surely be a long while before they could make war on the Queen.”

“So there is peace in the South?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Carl said. “But the great war has come to a close, at least for now.”

We thanked the friendly stabler for his information, and went into the city. 

* * *

We walked about the city for a while; I found it dreary and I deeply disliked the smell. As I moved through the crowds it became easier to filter their thoughts, and soon I could pick out individual minds without too much interference.

“None of this impresses you,” Tansy asked, “does it?”

“My home city is several times the size of King’s Landing,” I answered. “And enormously cleaner.”

Thanks to the labor of tens of thousands of city-owned slaves, I thought to myself, and felt ashamed. I had no cause to feel my society superior to theirs, not when it allowed one person to own another.

Tansy took me to the site of the massive temple that had once dominated the city, and we looked at the crater where the great explosion had taken place. I had wanted to see what could have wreaked such devastation. A blast of that size usually implies nuclear fission, but I found no signs of the tremendous heat that arises when atoms are split. There had been fire, and thousands of people nearby had died, but I found none of the glass-like residue that nuclear events leave behind.

I thought the explosion must have resulted from some form of fuel-air explosive but I had seen no signs that these people understood distillation or had petroleum-based fuels: their lamps burned oils derived from plant and animal sources. The blast of green fire implied that someone had deployed a technology unavailable to this culture. This mystery might be somehow connected to my presence here.

“So we’re here,” Tansy said. “What were you planning to do?”

“To determine whether the Queen or anyone else in government knows of John Carter.”

“And we’ll just walk up to the Red Keep, bang on the door and ask to see her?”

“I am a princess.”

“Who is often thought mad.”

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “Do you have another idea?”

“I do. We can go see Chataya, my old madam.”

* * *

Chataya ran a very expensive and exclusive brothel; Tansy had worked there until she bought out her contract. Chataya recruited the most beautiful and accomplished women, and allowed only the richest and most powerful patrons into her establishment. Important government officials would come there to dine with beautiful women, watch them dance while removing their clothing, and then engage them in sexual intercourse. Tansy suggested that I could read their minds from nearby. Or even meet them in Chataya’s large common room so I could ply them with alcohol and leading questions.

“Maybe it’s best if you sit still and look pretty, and let me ask the leading questions,” she said. “Men like to talk about themselves. And they really like to talk about how powerful they are, and how many secrets they know. If John Carter has appeared here and had an impact on the battlefield, someone who knows will come to Chataya’s.”

“We flirt on my planet,” I objected.

“Probably by stabbing each other.”

This was not true, but many noble women refused to make love with a man they could best at swordplay. Usually they determined this with blunted practice swords. Usually. So perhaps it was partially true.

I followed Tansy to the brothel, which probably should have been termed a “pleasure palace.” A huge walled garden surrounded the yellow-brick-fronted building of four stories. On this warm and sunny day, the large windows had been opened and it gave an open and airy appearance. All of it appeared well-maintained. Despite my prejudices, I was impressed.

The uniformed doormen let us in without question, assuming us to be applicants and judging us attractive enough to pass on to the owner. Inside the walls, the gardens were lovely, filled with flowering plants along paths of crushed gravel. Inside the building, statuary and tapestries decorated the walls while a quartet of musicians played soft background music. I could see such a place on Barsoom, except for the type of entertainment offered.

Chataya turned out to be an older woman with very dark skin. She came from a land known as the Summer Isles, far to the south. She greeted Tansy warmly and listened attentively to her proposal.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of you questioning my clientele,” she said. “You know we bank on discretion here. They come here to get away from their positions, not be quizzed about them.

“But I can do better. I can get you into the palace. To the queen herself.”

That would settle any questions. But what would we have to do for the queen? Chataya’s thoughts showed some fondness for Tansy mixed with bitterness over my sister having left her employment, and guilt at making this suggestion to her.

“She’ll pay well for a pretty pair like you two,” Chataya said. “It’s just a short job, you stay in the palace a few days and return. All very discreet.”

“We’d have freedom,” Tansy asked, “to roam in the palace?”

“I doubt you’d be invited to meetings of the Small Council,” Chataya said. “But you wouldn’t be prisoners, either. You would be considered handmaidens to the queen by day and bed maids by night.”

“Let me talk to my friend.” Tansy pulled me into a small side room with a very ornate couch. “We’re doing this.”

“Tansy,” I said. “I would not ask you to work as a whore again.”

“We get our answers and we leave. No whoring necessary. The queen will find other playmates. We’re not going to get a better opportunity.”

“I have been many things,” I said, “but never a whore.”

“And you’re not one now. We’re courtesans.”

“Courtesans?”

“Much higher paid,” she said, “with much higher status.”

“Are we not too beautiful?”

“Not for this job,” she said. “We’re just what the queen ordered.”

“I do not like this plan,” I said. “I do not trust Chataya. She resents you for leaving this place, and intends something unpleasant for us.”

“Dejah. I know how to play this game. Let me help you.”

I remained uneasy, but did not insist on leaving. Soon we bathed in scented water while maids thoroughly washed our hair and shaved Tansy's legs; people of Barsoom do not grow hair there. One of the maids asked if I would like the hair over my ovipositor “waxed”; I pulled from her thoughts what this meant and shuddered. I did not think it wise to show the differences between my anatomy and theirs. I also feared the pain. I knew women of this place to be far more sensitive there than I; I could not fathom how anyone could stand such a procedure without screaming. Tansy declined as well.

Chataya’s daughter, a very kind young woman named Alayaya, dressed us in ankle-length robes of a very thin, translucent material. She also gave us tiny leggings she called “panties,” that covered our genital areas and very little else. These would have been appropriate on Barsoom, but I had not seen their like here. She said other clothing would be provided in the palace. Alayaya had no negative thoughts toward us and remembered Tansy fondly, but I remained uneasy. I attempted to glean more from Chataya’s mind, but she had left the building and I could not locate her.

We had planned to remain in Chataya’s brothel for several days before going to meet the queen, but Alayaya informed us the following morning that Queen Cersei wanted new playmates immediately. We cleaned our teeth and freshened our breath, put on our whore costumes with cloaks over them, and walked to the palace, known as the Red Keep. We entered through a side gate as Alayaya had instructed and waited with a bored functionary until a guard wearing white armor very similar to that of the Lannister came to collect us.

We followed the guard through many hallways and up flights of stairs, encountering no one along the way. _They use back passages to bring whores into the palace_ , Tansy communicated silently. We finally came to a richly-appointed bed chamber.

A serving woman met us and stood by while the guard left. She was short and slender, with short black hair that had mostly turned gray, and decidedly unfriendly. She told us to remove our cloaks but otherwise said nothing. Her thoughts radiated immense jealousy; she wished that the queen would desire her as she feared Cersei would want us. We now wore only the sheer robes and tiny gold “panties.” The guard came back a few moments later with a beautiful yellow-haired woman; he looked us over closely before stepping out and closing the door.

 _The queen_ , Tansy informed me, but I already knew that. Cersei’s mind showed that she had no intention of putting off her pleasure – she wanted us immediately.

“Let me see Chataya’s latest gifts,” she said, walking over to us. She put her hand under my chin and then ran it down the front of my body, pausing to fondle each breast through the gauzy fabric of my robes. She did the same to Tansy.

“Oh, you will do. You will do very well. Refresh yourselves if you like.”

She indicated a small table that had been set with small plates of fruit and glasses of a golden wine. I was disappointed to note that she had no bacon. There were no knives present, either, only an odd eating utensil made of gold, with a rounded oval bowl on its end with three sharp spikes. I picked one up and looked at it.

 _Don’t eat anything_ , Tansy commanded. _Your table manners will give us away_.

“It’s called a spork, dear,” the queen said. “It comes from the Summer Isles. I can trust no one outside of my sworn guards with a blade in my presence. That includes even a fruit knife. Anyone I bring here could be an assassin of the Faceless Men.”

I looked at her.

“But not you, dear,” she said. “The Faceless Men can change their faces, but not their bodies. They have no one like you two. And Chataya has vouched for you.”

I wondered at Cersei’s confident foolishness. On Barsoom many orders of assassins employ beautiful women for their foul deeds, as well as fat men, ugly women and beautiful men. I did not doubt that the same applied here. Probing her mind, I found that Cersei found us both very desirable. I reminded her of a former lover named Taena who had left her. She found my coppery skin exotic; it reminded her of women from Dorne, Ned Dayne’s home, who were said to be highly sexual. Tansy put her in mind of someone named Sansa, a younger woman Cersei had longed to sexually dominate. Imagining Taena and Sansa submissively at her sexual command excited Cersei.

Cersei looked at the serving woman.

“Dorcas, you may go.”

She glided away and out a door that had not been visible. Her thoughts indicated that she immediately threw herself on a cot in a small room there and fell asleep.

Cersei removed a pair of daggers affixed to the sides of her tunic, and placed them on the table next to the plates. Then she thought better of that and walked over to a desk, placing them in a locking drawer. She came back to the table, picked up a glass of wine and drank deeply.

“Come here and undress me, both of you.”

We undid the laces that held her tight black leather tunic in place and slowly pulled it off of her. She was wearing another tunic underneath, of some lightweight white cloth. Her breasts strained against it; they were much larger even than mine or Tansy’s, yet high and pert like those of a woman of Barsoom. It was as though this planet’s gravity had had no effect on them. They were truly magnificent. We pulled the tunic up over her head.

“Kiss me.”

Tansy kissed her first, and I followed. Cersei used her tongue expertly, and I returned it. She breathed heavily.

“You may drop your robes now.”

We let them fall. Each of us took her by one hand and the three of us walked to the very high bed. It had a footstool next to it to help one climb. She did so and sat, turning to us. We pulled off her skirt and her leggings.

Cersei was indeed beautiful, with finely-formed legs which she crossed to expose what she thought of as her “great ass.” Sensing her approval, I paused to admire her. I failed to see what made this ass “great,” but she had exercised relentlessly to firm and shape said ass, and she liked having her body admired. I ran my hand gently across the self-declared great ass and down the outside of her thigh. She shivered.

The shape of the ass is not considered fundamental to a woman’s beauty on Barsoom, though one that is oversized is considered a sign of indolence. Judging from the reaction of men and some women on this planet my own was considered attractive; months of horseback riding had firmed it to the consistency of iron. Perhaps because we do not bear live young, and therefore wide hips for birthing are not necessary in a mate, we do not appreciate the female ass? But we do not nurse our young, yet we appreciate the breast; I myself appreciated breasts a great deal. I saw a potential paper in this conundrum. Strong thought impulses from Tansy interrupted those musings before they interfered with my performance.

 _Every customer wants to think he or she is the one exception, the one the whore actually wants_ , Tansy sent. _Making them believe that is the whore’s art._

Tansy and I climbed onto the bed and lay alongside the queen. Cersei kissed each of us again. She ran her fingers across our breasts, lightly, giving extra attention to the nipples. She then motioned for us to kiss each other while she watched. Tansy cupped my left breast in her hand and kissed me. She was my sister, not my lover, and I had never kissed her, not in a serious way. I now learned that Tansy knew how to kiss; I closed my eyes in actual pleasure, momentarily forgetting where we were. Her tongue rasped along my lips and met mine; I extended my tongue and wrapped it around hers.

She expressed shock but stopped herself from breaking away; we of Barsoom can extend our tongues when aroused but apparently the people of this planet lack this most useful ability. Once she relaxed, she liked it very much. So did I.

“Kiss her tits,” whispered Cersei, now highly aroused.

Following Tansy’s silent instructions, I rose to my knees. She knelt before me and took my breasts in her hands. Her touch thrilled me. She leaned forward and took my right nipple in her mouth, rolling her tongue over it. I gasped and involuntarily arched my back to look up at the canopy over the bed. I put my hands on her shoulders as she moved to my left breast, outlining the areola with her tongue and then sucking on the nipple itself.

I did not want her to stop, but Cersei called softly to us.

“Switch,” she said, breathing heavily.

I needed a moment to breathe as well. Tansy smiled at me, placed her hands behind her neck and pulled her shoulders back slightly to present her breasts. She had never looked so desirable to me. Cersei’s thoughts indicated that she liked to see a slow building of passion. I kissed Tansy’s lips softly, not using my tongue, and then the side of her face and her neck, moving downward. All the while I kept track of Cersei’s interest. She enjoyed watching me, thinking of this Sansa person in Tansy’s place, whimpering, and herself in mine. She considered ordering me to strike Tansy, but fortunately changed her mind before she spoke.

I reached Tansy’s left breast and settled my thighs onto my calves to place it directly before me. Making love to a woman’s breast is an art form on Barsoom, one I had mastered long ago. I did not know if these breasts were constructed in the same manner as ours, but that certainly looked to be the case.

Tansy had exquisitely beautiful breasts; despite their odd pale color, I had rarely seen such even among women like me who were bred for beauty. I circled her areola with my extended tongue, carefully dropping my hair into Cersei’s line of vision. This frustrated the queen, so I withdrew my tongue, pulled my hair back behind my ear and concentrated on the nipple, nipping it lightly with my teeth and teasing it with my tongue.

Cersei grew ever more aroused, and apparently so did Tansy. I could not penetrate the screen around her thoughts without using more force, but her body stiffened. Her nipples grew even larger and more erect and her areolas took on a sheen and now appeared swollen. She grabbed a handful of my hair and twisted it, giving a sharp intake of breath. I placed my left hand on her right flank, feeling a pulse run through her. She moaned softly, then leaned down and bit me on the shoulder.

I released her breast and stretched back upward to face her. I kissed her again.

“Enough,” Cersei said. “You’re here to pleasure me.”

 _Kiss her_ , Tansy said silently. _I need to recover from what you just did._

I turned my attention to Cersei, kissing her lips softly at first, but she grabbed the back of my head and returned it with a very hard kiss of her own, roughly thrusting her tongue into my mouth. Her thoughts revealed that she had become highly excited.

Tansy lay next to Cersei and took turns with me, kissing the queen, and then the two of us began to work our way down her body. Cersei’s skin was white and nearly flawless, and sweet to the taste. She had bathed in some aromatic liquid. Unlike either of us, she had no hair under her arms. We kissed her shoulders, moving down to her unbelievable breasts. I kissed the nipple, then took it into my mouth and teased it with my tongue. Tansy did the same on her left breast. Cersei gasped.

Tansy continued downward, while I kissed, licked and sucked Cersei’s breasts, kissed her lips again, and leaned over her to allow her to touch and kiss my breasts. I had no idea what to do with a Jasoomian woman’s sex organ; Tansy indicated that she would take care of Cersei. Cersei had no hair there either and I was intensely curious to study her, but Tansy had been firm that we could allow no signs of my inexperience to give us away. I read Cersei’s mind and gave her what she wanted, on her large pink nipples and on her lips. In this the women of Jasoom or whatever planet on which I found myself were no different than those of my home world. I had done this many times before; my skills with my tongue exceed my skills with my sword.

As I wrapped my tongue around hers, Cersei’s entire body began to shudder and her mind went completely blank: for several seconds, it had no thoughts at all. She arched her back and her left leg began to make rapid kicking motions. Then she slowly began to think again, mostly patterns of bright exploding colors. I had never experienced this sort of thing; even second-hand it was exhilarating and my own breaths quickened as well. I would have to ask Tansy about this phenomenon later; perhaps there was another paper in this.

I released Cersei’s tongue and she breathed heavily. A short while later she lost control of her mind and body again, and then a third and a fourth time. We continued until I read in Cersei’s thoughts that she was tiring and had had enough. I stroked the top of Tansy’s head to indicate that we were done.

At Tansy’s silent command, I curled up next to Cersei on her right, and lay my head on her shoulder. Tansy did the same on her left. The queen lay back, feeling contented at the warmth of our bodies pressed against hers, and idly ran her fingers through our hair.

Cersei had enjoyed us; I tried not to shiver in revulsion when she thought how we had given her the best sex of her life, better than she had experienced with her brother Jaime.

 _This is what a queen deserves_ , she thought. _It’s a shame that I’ll have to tell the Kettleblacks to kill these two when I tire of them, but I can’t have anyone spreading tales. It’s not worth the risk, even for a reward like this_.

I clamped my hand over the queen’s mouth and held her down. I looked at Tansy.

“She means to have us killed,” I said. “With a black kettle.”

“So kill her.” She looked at Cersei. “It’s nothing personal, your grace. But you really do deserve it.”

“I want to question her first.”

“Hurry then,” Tansy said. “Our time will be up soon and that guard will want a look.”

“Where is John Carter?” I asked the queen.

She had never heard the name, but refused to answer a question from a whore. She remained silent, though I would not have let her speak had she tried.

“Who is this land’s greatest warrior?”

She thought of a gigantic monster risen from the dead, her brother Jaime, the Mighty Pig, who it turned out she despised, a beautiful young man who kissed another man, an old man who killed enemies with a spoon, and the buffoon standing guard outside her door. She had heard rumors of a leader known as the Stallion building an empire in a land far away, but had not cared to learn any details other than that he had arisen from a barbarian people known as the Dothraki. She considered no one remotely like John Carter.

“Who is your most powerful enemy?”

She actually laughed internally at that one. She believed all of her enemies to be dead, but slowly she began to reveal a repressed terror of another queen, one younger and more beautiful and served by terrible flying creatures. She was somehow connected to this Stallion but that did not seem to involve John Carter as far as Cersei knew; I could not be sure if this last vision were real or a nightmare vision.

“I am finished with her,” I said.

“Then finish her,” Tansy said. “We’ve got to be going.”

“We are unarmed, and unclothed, in the most closely-guarded room on this continent. I do not know that we can escape.”

“We surely can’t escape if she has us killed,” Tansy said. “Kill her now.”

I thought about simply suffocating the queen, but changed my mind. Cersei had given me an idea.

“Get me the spork.”

Tansy dashed to the table and brought back the golden eating tool. I inserted it into the deep valley between the queen’s breasts. I was still amazed at how they pointed directly upwards, as though something had been implanted inside them. Tansy held down her left arm; I had her right pinned beneath my hip. She struggled, but could not break free. I looked my sister in the eye.

“I am sorry for bringing you here,” I said. “I am sorry for making you act as a whore again. You would have been better off not becoming my sister.”

“Don’t be silly. I told you weeks ago. You’re the first person I’ve ever really loved. I’d rather die as your sister than live without having known you.”

 _By the seven gods and all the demons,_ thought Cersei, _don’t make me listen to this tripe. Just kill me now._

I looked down at our captive queen.

“There are no gods, your grace. But I shall do as you say.”

Her eyes bulged – unlike most of her subjects, she was not stupid, and immediately realized that I had read her silent thoughts. She had not until that moment thought that I would actually kill her. John Carter would have tied her up and left her hidden in her dressing room; I was about to put a spork in her heart.

_Who are you?_

“A Princess of Helium,” I answered out loud, and then in my own language, “ _yi valonqar e Elium_.”

 _The valonqar_! She recognized my title! How did she know even a single word of my language? But my arm had already started to shove the golden spork through her breastbone. She let out a scream smothered by the hand I still held over her mouth; her back arched once again and she strained to break her arms loose. She relaxed as she died, and I straddled her to hold her face in my hands, desperately hoping to pick up any clue from her final thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris again wields the Spork of Death.


	20. Chapter Fourteen (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris dances, and encounters life-sustaining coffee.

Chapter Fourteen (Dejah Thoris)

“Dejah! The guard!”

I had allowed myself to become distracted. The guard who had brought us here, now wearing his helmet, had entered the room at the muffled scream and fast approached. I leapt atop him, wrapping my bare legs around his torso to pin his sword arm to his side. We careened around the room while he flailed at me with his free hand and I tried to jam the blood-covered spork through the eye-slit of his helmet. He crashed into the wall in an effort to shake me off; it knocked the breath out of my lungs but still I held on.

Finally, the spork poked into his eye and he began to bellow loudly. I kept twisting the spork and when it gained purchase in his eye socket, I punched it home into his brain with the side of my fist. He immediately collapsed limply to the floor.

I untangled myself from the guard’s body, and told Tansy to close the door. There were no thoughts detectable in the hallway outside. The queen’s serving woman still slept, though how she did not wake from the racket we had made I could not guess. I told Tansy to find some clothes for us while I tended to the bodies. Had I suffocated Cersei, there would have been no scream and I could have thrown her out the window to make it appear that she had committed suicide like her son. Sometimes I act before I fully think things through. A scientist should know better.

After stripping the guard, I strewed his armor and clothing between the door and the bed as though he had taken them off himself in his eagerness to make love to his queen. I placed his body on the bed alongside that of the queen, turning them to face one another, and replaced the spork in his eye. He had been a tall and muscular man, with a great deal of curly black hair all over this body. His very pale face bordered on ugly, with a smashed nose and many small black pimples.

I placed Cersei’s hand on the spork, and stuck the man’s dagger into the bloody hole over her heart with his dead hand wrapped around its handle. I yanked the silks out from underneath the bed’s thick pad to make it look like a struggle had occurred. The little scenario I’d created would only fool the stupid, but it might confuse others. And there were many stupid people in the queen’s service.

The _valonqar_. Cersei’s last thoughts concerned the unfairness of her life, how she had never received her due from her father, her brother/lover, her children or the people of her realm who had never loved her. She regretted the deaths of the three children fathered by her brother, and that she had seen so little of her eldest, fathered by her husband the king, before she secretly sent him away to clear the path to the throne for her other children. Her first son instead became a blacksmith. She felt especially humiliated to have been killed by some foreign whore. She imagined a number of other people stabbing her, well-dressed men and women including a very short man, a very old woman and her brother the Kingslayer; apparently all would have been preferable as the instrument of her death. She remembered a seer predicting her death at the hands of a _valonqar_.

Tansy had found two apparently new outfits identical to that the queen had worn, with leggings, a short leather skirt over them, and a leather tunic. They were garishly decorated with the Lannister family lion, but that was not to be helped. I had seen other women clad in similar garb that I now understood to have been imitating Cersei, so hopefully anyone who saw us would not realize that we wore the original. Cersei had been a tall woman so the clothing fit for the most part; though neither of us was small-breasted it sagged over the chest on both of us, leaving the golden lion somewhat wrinkled. Tansy had also found two more daggers of the same extraordinary steel from which my sword had been forged, in addition to the two the queen had worn. I broke open the desk to retrieve those blades; I also scooped a handful of gold coins into a pair of pockets on the sides of my new outfit. We each slipped a pair of the daggers into the loops on our new tunics apparently meant for them.

Tansy began tapping the walls of the bedchamber, searching for a secret passage. I joined her. We found what seemed to be a door behind a garish tapestry showing the Lannister lion trampling the animal symbols of the other houses. We could not make the door open, so I kicked it in and hoped the tapestry would hide the damage for at least a little while.

I turned to scoop up our cloaks, our sandals and our whore costumes, and looked up to see Dorcas, Cersei’s servant, emerge from her small chamber. I strode quickly to her, pushed her against the wall and clapped my hand over her mouth. Her gray eyes grew large and she tried to scream, but I did not allow her to squirm free of my hand. She had untied the laces of her plain gray dress in order to sleep, and I drew one of Cersei’s daggers, using its blade to push her clothing aside before I stabbed her in the center of her chest. I held her mouth closed as she tried to scream again and then died.

I carefully carried her body to Cersei’s bed and lay it across the end strangely known as the “foot.” I pulled her dress down around her waist and pulled off her underclothes, adding them to the pile of clothing on the floor. She was very pale under her clothing and not particularly attractive in face or form. But perhaps someone would believe that Cersei had killed Dorcas in a fit of jealous rage before turning on her lover.

Tansy pulled at my arm, urging me to leave.

“That won’t do,” she said. “Take the body with us and dump it somewhere else.”

I pulled Dorcas’ dress back up over her chest to prevent her blood from leaking onto my new leather clothing, and hefted her body over my shoulder.

“I had to kill her,” I whispered. “I did not wish to.”

“She would have screamed,” Tansy said. “It’s a shame that she died but you had no other choice. Better her than us. Now let’s go.”

Tansy pulled me into the dark corridor, and we arranged the tapestry to cover the shattered door as best we could. 

* * *

We moved down the dark passage as quickly as we dared. Dorcas was not heavy, but I did not like carrying a dead woman. I noticed a small chamber with a shaft leading deep below; Tansy said it probably had once held a lift called a “dumb waiter” that allowed servants to bring food and other items up from below. It was filled with dust and had no rope, indicating that it had not been used in many years. I pushed Dorcas into the opening and let her drop into the depths; I did not hear her body hit the bottom of the shaft until it had dropped a great distance.

We pressed on, walking up and down stairs and taking so many turns that we became thoroughly lost. Many observation portals dotted the walls of the passage. We looked through them but eventually became bored of staring at empty rooms, servants cleaning floors, and guards sleeping instead of guarding. Were I writing an adventure tale I suppose I would say that we overheard the Lannister generals making their plans, but we saw and heard absolutely nothing of any interest.

One portal looked out into a busy corridor that seemed to include public traffic: there were workmen, laundry women, fruit sellers and others among the soldiers and court officials passing back and forth. When it became empty we slipped out of the secret door and headed toward the bright daylight visible down the wide passage. Soon we passed a bored guard who waved us out of the castle gates. We were back in the city.

 _Did we get away?_ Tansy thought intensely.

I tried to scan the crowds to see if we had been followed, but could not tell for sure amid the mass of moving, shoving people.

“I cannot tell,” I answered aloud. “I need a place where we can remain without moving for a short time.”

Tansy led me into a tavern, a busy place filled with working people and street prostitutes – not upper-class courtesans such as ourselves. Despite our beauty and our exotic clothing, no one paid any attention to us; unusual-looking people apparently came and went at all times. We found a small empty table in the back corner, and squeezed ourselves onto the bench behind it, from where we could look out over the wide room and no one could come up behind us.

A serving woman brought us wooden tankards of ale; I sipped mine and concentrated on the people within and immediately without the tavern.

“Well?” Tansy finally asked.

“I believe we are alone.” I looked about. “Other than all of these people.”

“I knew what you meant,” she said. “What did you learn? Back there.”

“Nothing about John Carter. She had never heard of anyone like him. But I may have just killed Gendry’s mother.”

“Cer . . . she was Gendry’s mother?” Tansy caught herself before speaking the queen’s name aloud.

“Possibly. Perhaps likely. She thought of giving her son away to be raised as a bastard. Yet she still went to see him, at a distance, and imagined a young blacksmith who looked very much like Gendry.”

“Why would she give him away?”

“I do not know. The thoughts of the dying are not always clear, and they sometimes confuse fact with fantasy. At some point she definitely saw Gendry. Whether she believed him her son, or fantasized of it, I cannot say.”

“She could do worse for a son. Actually, she did. Much worse.”

“Should we tell him?”

“What are the chances of our ever seeing him again?”

“Very low,” I admitted. On Barsoom, our communications network assures that friends never leave our lives unless we wish it. “And perhaps it is best that he not know.”

“As you said, it could be fantasy. Hell, I fantasized it myself when you asked if I were his mother.”

“As did I.”

“Truly? Why?”

“He looks very much like a young John Carter. Enough to be his son. He is attractive, intelligent and of good character.”

I do not know why I lied to my sister. Gendry did not simply resemble John Carter. He looked very much like the son I shared with John Carter, formally named Carter Thoris and known as Carthoris. He had been a troubled young man, disturbed by his parents’ obvious lack of affection for one another and his own mixed-race origin. Rather than comfort my son, I had simply ignored him. While this is the way of the royal class of Barsoom, my actions or lack of them still filled me with shame. I had never told Tansy that I had children.

“So,” Tansy broke into my depressive thoughts, “John Carter is the spitting image of Robert Baratheon. How curious.”

“I thought Robert was foolish and fat.”

“And drunk,” she agreed. “Absolutely. Yet he was quite a man before all that.”

“You enjoyed him.”

“I would have done him for fun, yes,” she said. “I took his money all the same.”

She smiled slightly, and shook her head.

“What else did you learn?”

“She recognized my title,” I said. “Somewhere, she had heard my language.”

“You’re not the only person from Barstool to visit Westeros?”

“Barsoom. I do not know what it means.”

“It’s a vast land with millions of people in it,” Tansy said. “Visitors from the skies could come, live out their lives and die, and no one would ever hear of it more than ten miles away.”

“So this might have happened many times?”

“I have no idea,” Tansy said. “Is it worth worrying over?”

“Likely not. But I am curious.”

“You’re always curious. Did you learn anything else?”

“She was a bitter and unhappy woman,” I said, “upset that a copper-skinned Dothraki whore killed her and not someone more worthy. But nothing else of use, at least I do not think so.”

“She was more upset over who killed her than she was at being killed?”

“People have odd thoughts at the moment of death,” I said. “It is the mind’s way of lessening the shock of the moment.”

I held up my hand to stop her from replying, for a man approached our table. He was of middle age, with thinning hair and well-made clothing. He leaned over the table and looked at us each in turn. His thoughts said he hoped we were prostitutes. I pulled out one of Cersei’s daggers and placed its point against his slightly protruding belly, where no one else in the tavern could see.

“I believe,” I said, “that you have come to the wrong table.”

“I believe,” he answered, “that you’re right. A pleasant evening to you both.”

“What did he want?” Tansy asked as he walked away.

“Our breasts wrapped about his sex organ.”

“He’s not that lucky. Not even . . . that woman . . . deserved us.”

We finished our drinks and paid with one of Cersei’s golden coins; I told the barmaid to keep the change and forget from where it came; she smiled and her thoughts said that she would do so.

I had acted as a whore. It seemed that I should somehow feel degraded, but to show those feelings would insult my sister, and I would not do that. I had my answers regarding John Carter’s presence in the South of this land, but I had paid for them. I had learned that even the incomparable Dejah Thoris has a price.

This was not, I realized, the first time I had done so. My grandfather had used me, my beauty and my sexual skills, to seduce John Carter and bind him to Helium’s service. Was that trade of my body for profit any different from what Tansy had done for coins? I had been John Carter’s whore. “Once that line’s been crossed,” my sister had said, “you can never go back.”

* * *

We returned to Chataya’s brothel as night fell, wearing our cloaks to cover our newly-obtained clothing. As soon as we had changed into simple dresses Chataya herself hustled us into the private dining room where we had met before.

“I’m so glad you two are safe,” she said. “Have you heard the news?”

“No,” said Tansy. I had a preview but remained silent.

“Queen Cersei, First of Her Name, is dead. Some lovers’ quarrel with her Queensguard, Ser Osmund Kettleblack. He’s dead too. People are saying they started arguing in the middle of sex and ended up killing each other.”

She seemed puzzled that Cersei was having sex with this Kettleblack person instead of us. She assumed that we must have been turned away from the queen.

“What,” I asked, “is a Queensguard?”

“Seven of the best knights from all of the kingdoms,” Chataya said. “The best fighters and the most honorable. At least they used to be honorable, but they are great fighters still. They protect the ruler, and swear off of sex. They’re good customers, usually; a man who’s sworn off sex will pay a great deal to make sure no one knows he’s still having sex.”

“And this story of a fight during sex,” I went on. “The people believe this?”

“You truly aren’t from around here,” she said. “You saw the big smoking hole in the ground?”

I nodded.

“No one doubts anything anymore, no matter how strange it sounds.”

And no one could have missed the shattered secret door for long. Someone in the palace did not want it known that Cersei had been murdered.

“Who rules now?”

“No one knows,” Chataya said. “There will be anarchy soon. I’ve called in all my guards and told my girls to stay here at night. We’re closed for business until things get sorted out. What will you two do?”

I realized why she had seemed so surprised to see us again: she knew that Cersei had her whores killed after she tired of them. She had expected us to service the queen a few times and then disappear forever. No wonder she was happy to see us when we arrived in King’s Landing. Cersei paid her well to provide new playthings, and to stay quiet when they never returned. Chataya could make some additional money and assuage her anger at my sister for breaking her contract, all at the same time. And no one in King’s Landing would ask inconvenient questions about our disappearance.

I wondered if I should kill her. I wondered if I should tell Tansy. Chataya was Tansy’s friend, or at least Tansy said she thought so. And the dark-skinned woman had been willing to let her be killed, and apparently had wanted her to die. But would Tansy believe me, and forgive me for killing her friend? I was confused.

I felt my emotions drain away. I recognized this as the state I enter when I prepare to kill someone. I willed it away. We would leave King’s Landing and never see Chataya again.

“We will leave in the morning,” I told Chataya. “Thank you again for all of your kindness.”

Chataya sent some fine roasted meat from a bird called “pheasant” to the private dining room, along with wine and grilled mushrooms. I enjoyed them very much. From the room’s open interior window we could see a stage one floor below us where musicians played and women danced in a sinuous, writhing motion much like the dances we perform in Helium.

“The dance is from Lys,” Tansy said, noting my fascination. “It’s a city across the Narrow Sea, noted for its courtesans, its dancers and its poisons.”

“You can dance as they do?”

“I can.”

“Teach me.”

“I’m not sure where we’d find someone to play the _shahnai_ ,” she said, referring to the wind instrument a bald man played on the edge of the stage. “Or the _tabla_ drums.”

It saddened me that we would leave before I could dance.

“Show me now.”

Invisible to all but the dancers on stage, who watched the men below rather than us, we mimicked their movements from the room on the upper floor. It struck me as odd to dance with my sister only a few scant hours after killing three people, but I did not stop. As always when I danced, I felt my thoughts quiet as I concentrated on moving my body in the rhythm of the music. It did not sound like the music of Helium, but it had a similar beat, and I closed my eyes and felt as though I were home.

“I didn’t know it could be beautiful,” Tansy said softly as she watched me. “When you do it for men, for pay, it just seems . . . another way to fuck for money.”

“Just like sex,” I said, “it is more beautiful when done for love.”

I felt as though I had said something deep and profound. Tansy nodded, but said nothing.

Afterwards we returned to our room for the night. Dancing left Tansy red-faced and happy. She said nothing of our sexual encounter, and lay next to me unclothed as though nothing unusual had happened. I lay on my back looking at the ceiling, where I could just make out some sort of intricate design, and wondered what would happen if I kissed her. Or if I killed Chataya. Or if I did both. As was her habit, Tansy fell hard asleep and flung an arm and a leg across me. Comforted by this ritual, I eventually fell asleep myself without seeking a new encounter.

Later I awoke and left Tansy in bed, donning a cloak over my nude body and walking through the brothel to quietly cross the garden to the privy. The room had a chamber pot in a small closet that one could use rather than making the late-night walk, but its use embarrassed me. While we of Barsoom eliminate far less often than the people of this planet, the need does arise. As I returned, Chataya met me in the doorway.

“You could make a lot of money for me if you stayed,” she said. “That tanned skin, those long legs, those big high tits with those dark nipples and that sweet ass. And that haughtiness! I’d pay you well. You’d only work when you wanted to. Your etiquette needs improvement; you eat like a starving boy of four-and-ten. But I could teach you that.”

She meant it. She thought I was a whore, and an expensive one. And perhaps now I was, though I had not been paid for pleasuring Cersei. I paused as though I were considering her offer. I telepathically scanned the household. No one else was awake except the two guards at the front door, and they were outside. Their thoughts involved some upcoming horse race that excited them; they were absorbed in quiet discussion of gambling odds and they could not hear us.

“I know you sold us to Cersei,” I said softly. “You knew she would have us killed.”

And then I punched her in the chest, very hard, right over her heart. She gasped and fell back against the door frame.

“It was only business,” Chataya said through gritted teeth. “Not personal.”

She lied. She had wanted Tansy to die, and did not care whether that led to my death as well. I punched her again, and this time she died. I went back upstairs, crawled under the fur with Tansy, and pulled her close. No second thoughts kept me from sleep this time.

* * *

I awoke hoping there would be bacon for First Meal. Tansy was already up and came into our room as I was putting on my own leggings. We had burned Cersei’s clothing in the fireplace the night before; the smell of scorched leather still hung about the room.

She placed a large cup known as a “mug” on the table next to the bed; she already held one herself. I picked it up and sniffed carefully; a wonderful aroma arose from the black liquid within.

“It’s called coffee,” Tansy said. “It’s from the Summer Isles. I think you’ll like it.”

I sipped carefully. In that moment, my life changed yet again. It had a bitter taste, yet I felt compelled to drink more of it. Tansy waited until I had finished all of this superb “coffee.”

“Chataya died last night,” she said.

“How?”

“It appears to be a seizure of the heart.”

“She was old, was she not?”

“Old enough, yes,” Tansy said. “But. Do you remember a woman named Camille from the Brotherhood’s camp? Black hair, very pale skin, unpleasant attitude?”

“No.”

“She died in that big fight when you first arrived. You punched her right over her heart and it stopped beating from the shock. She looked a lot like Chataya does now.”

“Why would I kill Chataya?”

“Because,” Tansy said, “you figured out that she sold us to Cersei, and knew we would be killed in the palace. Or under it. So you killed Chataya before she could sell us out again.”

I sat quietly, not knowing what to say, and ran my hands over the now-empty coffee mug. Tansy dropped to her knees in front of me, gently took the mug from me and placed it on the table, then took my hands in hers.

“Dejah. We’re sisters. That means that we trust each other. You should have told me.”

“I was afraid that you would not believe me,” I said. “Chataya was your friend long before you knew me.”

“She was a business associate,” Tansy said. “She owned my contract. She never forgave me for buying it out, for leaving this place. You are my sister. Nothing you could ever do would change that. And I knew what Chataya was, and I suspected that we had been sold as soon as you said that Cersei planned to have us killed.”

She paused.

“That wasn’t the first time Chataya sold me, and put me in danger. I should have known better.”

She lifted my hands and kissed each of them on the palm, then placed them on the center of her chest, over her heart, with her own hands on top of them.

“I know you were trying to protect me,” she said. “But we keep each others’ secrets.”

“I will remember. My sister. You are not upset that I killed Chataya?”

“Sweet Dejah,” she said. “You can’t stab your way out of every problem.”

“It has worked so far.”

* * *

Chataya’s daughter, Alayaya, believed that her mother had died of a heart ailment, as did the rest of the staff. No one thought to look closely to see if she had unusual bruises. The ways of the Summer Isles called for an elaborate funeral with a parade; the mourners would dress in colorful clothing and there would be music, singing and dancing along the route of the procession before the body was burned amid a great celebration.

That was how Alayaya described it to Tansy and I, but with the city in such fear of violence she had decided to forgo the funeral parade. Chataya would be burned in the garden of her brothel.

A very subdued audience gathered: prostitutes, kitchen workers, guards. Many wept openly. I stood next to Tansy and felt the waves of sorrow wash over the small crowd as Alayaya applied a torch to the kindling stacked under her mother’s richly-wrapped corpse. I felt her sorrow; she missed her mother deeply even though her mother had made her a whore. Chataya had told her daughter that this was the way of the Summer Isles and had no shame attached, but Alayaya had grown up here, in King’s Landing, and absorbed a different set of social mores.

The others missed her as well, unaware that she had been murdered. Unaware that her killer stood a scant distance from her pyre, pretending to be sorrowful.

We met with Alayaya a short time later to let her know that we would leave this city early the following morning.

“I’m very sorry,” she said. “My mother handled the accounts, but as far as I can tell the queen never paid for you two. I show payments from the queen for other girls, all of them new girls who Mother recruited just for Queen Cersei. I suppose I could try to bill the palace but you didn’t actually finish the job, did you?”

“No,” Tansy said. “We waited in an anteroom and suddenly chaos broke out all around. No one paid any attention to us, so we took clothes from a laundress’ basket and we left.”

“That was wise,” Alayaya said. “I’m glad you’re safe, but I can’t pay you.”

She was highly embarrassed, and would have given over the money had Tansy insisted.

“I think the Maiden’s telling me to give up the life,” Tansy said. “It was a mistake to try to get back into it.”

Tansy looked at me, and I understood what she wanted. I carefully scanned Alayaya’s thoughts; she had not known that her mother sent us to be killed. That pleased me; I did not want to kill Alayaya, but had she been a knowing participant in Chataya’s murderous scheme I would have gladly snapped her long and lovely neck. Even the thought of someone threatening my sister’s life caused the anger to build within me. I shook my head slightly and saw that Tansy noticed.

“And you?” Alayaya asked me. “You’re astonishingly beautiful. My mother hoped you would join us here.”

“I follow where my sister leads,” I said. “I will give up the life as well. Perhaps I will take up the sword.”

Alayaya laughed politely at what she thought a weak jest.

“You’re always welcome here,” she said. “My mother would have wanted that.”

I believe that I kept my face still as she said that. I did not feel guilt for slaying Chataya – she had meant to murder me and worse, murder my sister. I realized that I indeed now valued Tansy’s life over my own.

“Thank you,” Tansy said. “But I think it’s time we made our own way.”

“There are few ways open to women of Westeros, even those as beautiful as you and your sister.”

“Still,” Tansy said, “we will try.”

Alayaya embraced us both, and we left her pleasure palace, now wearing simple blue dresses she had given us. It was time to depart this huge city of the terrible smells and worse inhabitants. I had killed in personal combat and in battle on Barsoom, but I had never murdered anyone until I arrived on this planet. And now I had done it thrice more, including stabbing a blameless serving woman to prevent her from screaming and dumping her body. Her family, if any, would never know her fate. I had also killed a member of the elite Queensguard for performing his duty. I had been a whore, giving sexual pleasure in exchange for money, even though I had not been paid. I had learned that John Carter was not to be found here or at least had not come to the attention of the ruling house. And I had learned that I must trust my sister, no matter how frightening the potential repercussions.

I was not the woman John Carter had once believed me to be. “The incomparable Dejah Thoris” was a myth. She always had been and I knew that, yet I at least believed her to be good. Now I had to doubt that, and consider all the other ramifications of that myth. John Carter had loved a fantasy, but I had never objected. Likewise, I had once believed John Carter a paragon of honor and esteemed that quality above all others. Later I learned that he was not what I had imagined; nor, I now realized, was I. I had given honor no thought at all since my arrival – I spared the Mighty Pig because he amused me, not because he had earned my respect. Just why had I reached my hands toward the blue orb of Jasoom, and then ended up here instead?

Perhaps we all end in the hell we deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris learns of orgasm.


	21. Chapter Fifteen (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rage of Dejah Thoris is unleashed.

Chapter Fifteen (Dejah Thoris)

I would have preferred to remain in King’s Landing for a few more days to investigate the great explosion of green fire, but we needed to leave before someone connected the trail of dead bodies to me. John Carter was not here, and I had assassinated a crowned head of state with a spork. It would not do to linger at the scene of the crime.

We gathered our things, including a spork, and walked to the stable to collect our horses, my weapons and most of our gold. All was safely where we had left it in the stable-owner’s large iron safe. Carl the stable owner had taken excellent care of our animals, and I was glad to give him a little extra gold – even without any whoring profits beyond what I had stolen from Cersei’s writing desk, we still had plenty from our share of the Harrenhal loot.

Leaving King’s Landing itself proved more troublesome. A long line had built up behind the Dragon’s Gate from which we wished to depart, as soldiers wearing red cloaks had replaced those in gold we had seen on our arrival. They inspected everyone closely, and also checked the contents of all carts and wagons. We walked our horses slowly forward, and a soldier stepped in front of me, peering at me closely.

“Copper skin. Dark hair. We have some questions for you.”

“Hold,” came an impossibly loud, echoing voice. “She’s a friend of my family. I’ll handle this.”

The Mighty Pig pushed his way through the crowd. He looked ill, and both of his wrists were heavily bound in protective casts. The soldier backed away.

“We are old friends,” he said quietly so only Tansy and I could hear. I would not have guessed he was capable of such. “One of you take each of my arms, smile, and we walk straight through the gate. Understand?”

I detected no treachery in his thoughts. I nodded to Tansy, and she did as he said. I watched and copied her, looping my hand behind his elbow and onto his forearm. He led us and our horses past the line, talking non-stop about non-existent friends and relations until we were clear of the gate and its guards. Then he stopped.

“I owed you a life,” he said. “I hope we’re even now.”

“You do not know that it would have been my life lost.”

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “Think of it as keeping the lives of my men off your conscience if you prefer.”

“Why?”

“That’s not clear?”

“No,” I said, “I am sorry. It is I who is not clear. Why did we need help leaving the city?”

“I rode in last night with Jaime Lannister. This morning he issued orders to bring anyone matching your description to him for questioning; I knew it had to be you. I think he’s seized power and possibly the crown from his sister. I don’t know why he wants you, I assume it’s because of the sword, and I don’t want to know why. I know that I serve a family of monsters, but I swore an oath. Don’t ask me to break it any more than I have already. And don’t go back up the Kingsroad. The rest of Lannister’s army is headed south.”

“Thank you.” I kissed his cheek. Tansy kissed the other. We mounted up and rode away.

* * *

Following the Mighty Pig’s suggestion, we cut across from the Kingsroad down a wagon track to reach another road heading northeast to a town called Rosby. No one pursued us, and we rode through farmland untouched by war. Tansy explained more of what had happened in King’s Landing, and made me show her my tongue. I learned that what we of Barsoom consider to be “sex,” the people here refer to as “extended foreplay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with foreplay,” Tansy said. “I like it a lot, when I’m fucking for fun. I demand it, truth be told. But it’s only the introduction, not the main event.”

I described what I had read in Cersei’s mind as Tansy applied her tongue to Cersei’s sex receptacle and I had mine on her breasts.

“It’s called an orgasm,” she said. “It’s not spoken of often. I’d guess most men don’t know it exists; at least not many even try to give one. Some of the Faith say it happens when a woman is possessed by a demon. Others believe it’s necessary for a woman to become with child, to match the same reaction from a man. So they claim that a woman cannot get with child by way of rape, which is a damned convenient way to blame a woman for her own rape.”

“How is that?”

“If you are with child by a rapist,” she said, “that means that you had an orgasm. And if you had an orgasm that means you enjoyed it. And if you enjoyed it . . .”

“No rape.”

“Exactly.”

We rode in quiet for a time and I considered that. I was very glad not to have been born a woman of this planet. Except that I envied the glorious gift of orgasm that we of Barsoom could not, as far as I was aware, receive.

“Orgasm is not always received?”

“Depends on the woman,” Tansy said, “and it depends on her lover. Some have it often, some never at all. And the lover needs some skill and a will to give it. Unless she gives it to herself.”

“You can receive orgasm from yourself?”

“With your fingers.”

“You do not need a lover?”

“No,” she said, “but it’s usually better that way. I’m pretty sure no one has one every time.”

“You have received orgasm?”

“What do you think happened when we were with Cersei?” she asked with a wide smile. “When she told you to kiss my breasts?”

“From me?”

“Yes, from you,” she said. “And that magic tongue. It’s pretty rare to get one just off your breasts.”

“I have many skills.”

“I’ve underestimated you.”

Even though I was not my sister’s lover, the fact that I had given her orgasm, and done so in a unique way, made me very proud of myself.

“Do you often receive orgasm?”

“Only during sex for fun. Never when I was working. Not from a client, anyway. I’ve play-acted them I don’t know how many times.”

She began to moan, writhing back and forth and then throwing her head back. She shuddered and panted, “oh gods, oh gods, insert name here, oh gods.” Then she finally screamed.

“That is not how you received orgasm in the palace.”

“No,” she said, “but it’s what the client expects. You’re playing a role. I needed to show Cersei that I was excited by you, but not more excited than I was by her.

“It’s also a thing with me, and a lot of whores. My own pleasure is mine, not the client’s. You try to hold onto something no one can pay for; some whores won’t kiss, that’s one example. I don’t want to mix how you made me feel for real with how I pretended to feel with her.”

“So you liked it?”

“From you?” she asked. “Oh gods yes. I had to bite you to keep from crying out. You don’t have orgasms?”

“Not like that,” I said. “We have pleasure but not nearly as intense. My reaction when you kissed my breasts was as intense a pleasure as I have known.”

“I’m so sorry. I could tell you liked it and I’m glad you did, but a woman of our people could have had much more. I wish you could have gone over the edge.”

“And receive orgasm?” I clarified. “So do I.”

“You used that tongue on John Carter?”

“Yes,” I said. “He hesitated and said it was not proper, but enjoyed having it wrapped around his sex organ.”

“No doubt. Did he come?”

“Come?”

“As you like saying, ‘receive orgasm’.”

I did like saying it. I would have preferred receiving it.

“I suppose he did receive orgasm,” I said. “His seed came flowing in powerful spurts, his skin turned as red as mine and he panted uncontrollably.”

“So that would be yes. You didn’t get the same pictures from his mind as you did from Cersei?”

“I cannot read John Carter’s thoughts.”

“Ah,” Tansy nodded. “I’m sure he did though. He never tried to make you come?”

“To help me receive orgasm?”

“Yes.”

“No,” I said, recalling John Carter’s views on sex with some anger. “He said that a woman should lie still and receive the man’s seed, to relieve the pressures on his body. Speaking of sex made him nervous and shy, but his sex organ would not fit inside me, either, which frustrated him greatly. Would I have enjoyed that?”

“If you had the same parts that we do,” she said, “I’m sure that you would have. If not, probably not. You can’t help what you are, Dejah. You were the normal one on your planet.”

I considered this; she was of course correct. I had fallen in love with an alien, and all that that entailed. Was there not more to love than inserting a sex organ? That was certainly the case on Barsoom.

“So you’re the most beautiful woman of three worlds,” Tansy continued, “and you have that gift of a tongue. Why isn’t he the one searching for you?”

I could tell she was being playful, but that question had bothered me deeply. Did John Carter even remember me? Had he found someone else, someone who could receive his sex organ, and to whom he could give orgasm? Had he realized my true, murderous nature?

“You’re fading away again,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It troubles me. But I have found my sister, and should appreciate what I have.”

“And if you do find John Carter?”

“Whatever happens,” I said, “we remain sisters. As you have said, that is not subject to change. You will leave this planet with me. If that is not possible or is not your wish, then I will stay with you. Either way, we remain together.”

“And if John Carter objects?”

“Then I will know that he no longer wishes to be with me,” I said. “That is likely, and as I no longer wish to be with him, it is also irrelevant. More importantly, it will mean that he no longer intends to honor his oaths to my grandfather.

“Whatever happens,” I repeated, “I will not be separated from my sister.” 

* * *

On this road there were plenty of inns, and for our first night’s stay we selected a fine-looking establishment built of red brick. It sat on the fringe of a tiny village of roughly-made shacks. I saw no evidence of wartime damage, nor did I see armed men walking about.

The common room held only a handful of people, who ignored us as we took a table. The innkeeper, a stout and friendly woman, said she had roast chickens; I ate three of them and a large loaf of fresh bread, plus a jug of what she called white wine though once again it looked yellowish-green to me. All of the food was very good.

“Three chickens,” she said slowly as she gathered our platters. “Three. I don’t suppose you’ll want any pie.”

“What is pie?” I asked. The woman looked at Tansy.

“My friend is from far away,” she said. “They must not have pie there. What have you got?”

“Apple pie,” the innkeeper said, “fresh-baked. I suppose I should bring her the whole pie and not bother with slicing it?”

“That’s probably wise.”

“Milk?”

“Yes, please,” Tansy said.

The innkeeper returned with a round pastry, about an arm’s length across and perhaps half a finger deep. I stuck my finger into it, and tasted. It was warm, and inside it had a sweet fruit filling. She handed me a wooden spoon, and a pitcher of a white liquid.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Milk.”

“What is milk?” I asked again.

“You know, from cows.” I scanned her thoughts; this was the nutritive fluid secreted by cattle to feed their young. The concept disgusted me.

“Thank you,” Tansy interjected before I could comment. “It all smells wonderful.”

The innkeeper waited while I tasted my first spoonful of pie. It was glorious, a mixture of sweetness and fruit taste and crust. Truly we have nothing to match it on Barsoom.

“Try it with milk,” the innkeeper said.

Despite my disgust, I drank some of the tepid white liquid. It matched the pie perfectly.

“Thank you,” I said. “I have never tasted anything so glorious.”

“I’ll have more in the morning.”

“It will be difficult to sleep tonight,” I said, “as I await more magnificent pie.”

She smiled and walked away, thinking me strange but courteous. I had meant every word.

We returned to our room on the top floor of the three-story inn and prepared for sleep. I found myself watching Tansy remove her travelling clothes – tight leather riding leggings and a plain black tunic – with more interest than usual. I had seen her naked hundreds of times, but now I could not escape memories of her presenting her breasts to me in front of Cersei. I wanted my tongue on her pinkish-brown nipples again, and hers on mine.

She saw me watching, and smiled. She picked up a wooden chair and pulled it over to where I sat on the edge of the room’s lone bed, and sat facing me.

“You’re thinking of what we did in Cersei’s bedchamber.”

“Do you also read thoughts?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “When they’re really obvious.”

“It is a difficult memory to escape.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed me,” she said. “Truly, I am. But you need to trust me in this, as I trust you.”

I nodded acceptance.

“I’ve had female lovers,” she said. “So have you, I’m guessing from the way you handled Cersei’s tits.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Many times.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Dejah, and I was one of King Robert’s picked courtesans. And you know how much I love you. And the things I can teach you to do with that tongue . . . of course I want to have sex with you all night and into tomorrow.”

“But?” I asked.

“You’re catching on,” she said. “If we do become lovers, I don’t want it to have grown out of our performance for Cersei. That was vile. Degrading. Humiliating. Anything between us needs to be real, and beautiful.”

“I understand.”

“Someday we probably will,” she said. “Seven hells, someday we definitely will. But not until Cersei’s in the past, and it comes about naturally.”

“You are very wise.”

“It comes from having been very stupid,” Tansy said. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“We will still sleep curled together?”

“Of course. You’re the perfect bed warmer.”

We continued to enjoy warm beds as we rode through peaceful countryside, encountering no military patrols, Lannister or otherwise. We stayed every night under a real roof, sleeping in a real bed. An abundance of food surrounded us, including many kinds of pie. Each morning we still got up and performed our exercises, and I practiced with my sword. One can never have too much practice. Tansy also taught me more of the Eastern ways of dance.

Steadily I felt myself relax, as I allowed myself to enjoy Tansy’s company and see these lands as they must have looked before war tore them apart. These people could have been happy, if not for the insanity of their leaders. I realized that this statement often held true on Barsoom as well.

And perhaps I could be happy here as well. It would be a very long time before the colors of this world felt natural to me, along with the weight of the air – I could feel its difference with every breath. But for the moment, riding through peaceful countryside with my sister and my horses, I felt more at ease than I had in a very long time. 

* * *

Eventually we reached another town, this one called Duskendale. Duskendale was a port town, and for the first time I saw the ocean. I knew that this planet – I no longer bothered to think of it as Jasoom or Dirt, or even to entertain that possibility – had large oceans of salt water. Barsoom had also had these in its distant past.

I heard booming sounds coming from the ocean, that Tansy called “surf.” She explained these were waves crashing into the “beach,” the sand that fringed the water.

“Do you want to see?” she asked.

I was not sure that I did, but my sister turned onto a sandy side track that headed toward the sound and I had no choice but to follow. The small trees and thick undergrowth eventually gave way to sand dunes similar to those of my home planet, but whitish-brown instead of the familiar red. Thick grass-like plants came up to my knees as we dismounted and walked to the edge of what turned out to be a small hill overlooking a deserted beach.

To our left I could see the town of Duskendale and its small harbor. It had three wharves, two of them with ships tied alongside. A small fort was visible at the opposite side of the town. The town had no large buildings like those of King’s Landing, but several had multiple stories.

Looking out over the ocean, I found it hard to breathe. The salty air felt so different, but the vastness of the blue-green-gray water made my vision waver and my knees weaken. This is a larger planet than Barsoom, with correspondingly broader horizons. I felt somewhat dizzy, and as I looked down it appeared that my feet were now far away. These were strange and unpleasant feelings, but I was determined to conquer them for the very idea of a water-filled ocean fascinated me. I could not study what I could not bear to approach.

When I could not stand the sight any longer – probably a short time – we rode down the track into the town and immediately spotted a large inn with four stories called the Seven Swords. A pretty young woman with twin braids in her hair greeted us in place of her father, the innkeeper; according to her thoughts he lay unconscious on the floor in a back room, too drunk to move. She assigned us a room on the top floor. The smells of salt and dead sea creatures on the air made me much sleepier than usual, and the innkeeper’s daughter sent a servant to our room with a platter of cold grilled chicken and fresh bread. After eating we retired early; I fell hard asleep before the sun went down.

* * *

Troubled by a dream, I awoke to full darkness. I had seen Tansy on her knees before me on a field of ice and snow, her hands entwined behind her neck as she had done in Cersei’s bedchamber. Naked to the waist, she begged me to plunge my sword between her breasts. In the waking world, she lay sprawled atop the furs next to me, perfectly safe with the moonlight bright on her pale bare skin, wondering how I had come to so deeply love a woman of an alien race.

I could not return to sleep. I watched Tansy sleep for a few more moments, then decided to look at the ocean by night and quietly put on my harness and leggings, with a dark green cloak we had found in Harrenhal over them. I went nowhere without my sword.

I walked back to the hill. The ocean under the light of a nearly-full moon was a beautiful sight, and I found myself much calmer looking at it without the wide horizon or the vibrant daytime colors. I stood for some time taking it in, my restless thoughts calmed by the cool salt breeze and the crashing rhythm of the waves. But then others’ thoughts disturbed this soothing picture.

I looked down at the harbor, and saw by the moonlight that a number of large ships had entered and stopped there. Smaller boats plied between these ships and the beach, landing men there or picking them up. The men leaving the boats were charging into the town and dragging people away. The small number of soldiers in the town retreated into the little fortress on the opposite side of the harbor and barred its gates, leaving the townspeople to their fate. By the scattered thoughts I could receive at this distance, it seemed the raiders mostly sought young women.

Tansy.

I ran back toward the inn. Amidst the pain and fear it was hard to pick up individual thoughts, but the scattered impressions I could get from my sister showed that she had been roughly awakened and taken from our room. Rather than rape her on the spot, the intruders had reserved my beautiful sister for their pirate king to abuse.

As I pounded down a narrow street, three men wearing red cloaks turned into it, heading in my direction. I flung back my cloak to clear my sword.

“Well now,” one of them said, “this is a pretty little bitch. I want her.”

I drew my sword. They pulled out blades of their own. I knocked aside the first man’s sword and cut him across the throat. Even as I killed him, I shoved the man on the right into a nearby wall with my shoulder. As the first man fell he cleared an opening to the chest of the man on the left, and I ran him through the heart before he could raise his own blade. Without turning back to what was now the last man I smashed my elbow into his throat, crushing his windpipe. I had no time to finish him, and left him slowly dying as I ran on.

As I blew through the doors of the inn, I realized that Tansy was not there. A man had shoved the innkeeper’s friendly daughter onto a table where he energetically tried to rape her. As she squirmed and struggled, I shattered an ale pitcher on the side of his head. He fell and I kicked him under the chin, snarling as I did so and snapping his neck. Another man had been watching the rape attempt, mocking his comrade’s inability to stick it in, and now made to run into the inn’s kitchen. I chased him, grabbing him by his ponytail and slinging him onto a table. He was rather fat, bearded and pathetic. He had a wide but short sword in his belt; I yanked it out and rammed it through his round belly up to the hilt, pinning him to the table’s thick wood. He wept.

I turned to the innkeeper’s daughter. Her drunken father was once again nowhere to be seen, by my eyes or by my telepathy, and I did not care to waste time finding him. “Run and hide,” I told her. “Anywhere you can.” She nodded, her eyes wide.

I ran toward the harbor, encountering more red-clad pirates. I killed two who tried to stop me, but otherwise ignored them. I had to get to the boats before they took Tansy away.

I was too late. Even as I ran, pirates dragged her aboard a ship in the harbor; I could sense her terror. I stood in water up to my knees and glared at the ship, as though I could will it to run ashore where I could vent my rage on its crew. I screamed in frustration at the night and at the moon.

I had promised my sister. I had looked into her eyes in Harrenhal and I had promised that this would never happen to her. And now she huddled on the ship right in front of me, waiting for the pirates to force her to the deck and ram their sex organs into her before they murdered her. I could feel her dread, her helplessness. And I could do nothing to save her.

First Born pirates had taken me captive on Barsoom, intending to eat me – until John Carter destroyed their foul religion, they had consumed people of other races, who they considered lesser beings fit only to serve them as a source of slaves or meat. I had been just as terrified as Tansy, just as sure that no one could save me. John Carter had freed me before I became someone’s dinner. Now Tansy depended on me to do the same. And I had already failed her.

Stalking angrily down the beach, I looked out at the ships in the harbor. Tansy tried desperately to reach me with her mind and I could follow her thoughts; her hands had been tied and she had been roped to a string of other frightened women. Somehow, I had to get out there. I had no idea how to swim through water, but I considered attempting it anyway.

Ahead of me, ten men were tying up a pair of women and loading objects into a boat pulled up on the sand. Their thoughts said they were headed for the same ship I wished to reach. I still carried my sword and ran through the waves lapping at my ankles; they were drunk, laughing and talking loudly and they never heard me coming.

The killing coldness had come over me. I did not think, I only reacted: they had my sister and I had no mercy. The first four died in a single motion, as I swept my blade left to kill two men and opened the throats of two more on the backswing. I vaulted over the boat and landed between two more men, chopping them down with short strokes into the sides of their necks. One man stood in the water staring at me; I stabbed him in the chest as he continued to stare. He silently toppled forward into the water, face-down.

Turning back, I met two men trying to pull ungainly broad but short blades from loops in their belts rather than proper scabbards. I pushed the first one down on top of the other, then ran them both through with the same stroke. The last one made to run away; I chased him down and stabbed him between his shoulders. He made a few gasping sounds and died as I ripped the tunic from his falling body to clean my sword.

I returned to the boat and cut the two women free.

“Go to a safe place,” I said. “Run.”

They ran. But I now realized that I had no idea how to make this boat I had captured go across the water to the ship. In my killing frenzy I had slaughtered everyone who could operate the vessel.

I continued down the beach, and soon spotted a boat coming to the shore. A single man had hopped into the water and begun to stride to the sand, leaving the boat adrift. I walked up to him; I very much wanted to kill him but he represented my last chance at a ride to the ship. I determined that he was not one of the pirates; his thoughts wondered at how a knight such as himself had returned to his old ways of sneaking ashore on dark beaches.

“You are a knight, yes?”

“Not a very noble one,” he answered me, “but yes.”

He was an older man, having lost most of his hair. Despite his words he took his knightly honor very seriously and wondered how he might help me even as he feared my obvious rage.

“I think otherwise.” I opened my cloak. “I am a woman. I have breasts.”

“And very fine ones they are,” he agreed. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“A knight must help a woman in need,” I said, repeating Ned Dayne’s rather childish description of knightly duties. “And I have a great need. Those raiders have taken my sister to that ship right there. I need you to take me there in your little boat, so that I may kill them and bring my sister back.”

“Kill which ones?”

“All of them.”

He looked at my sword; I had not yet wiped it down with the last dead pirate’s tunic and blood still ran down the fullers.

“I just escaped from there,” he said.

I read in his thoughts that this was true, and that he bore great anger toward the people on the ship for his capture and captivity.

“Then my killing them will please you,” I said. “I am very good at killing people.”

“Helping angry women kill people isn’t exactly what’s meant by the code of chivalry.”

He believed me suicidal.

“If I wished to kill myself,” I told him, “I would not need your help.”

He looked at me for a moment, realizing that he had not spoken that thought aloud. Then he nodded.

“This is a stupid idea,” he said. “And it’s not even the first time I’ve taken an insane red woman off to kill someone.”

“You will not regret this.”

“Oh, I’ll regret it, I regret it already, Lady . . . who are you, anyway?”

“Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium. It is a complicated explanation.”

“Ser Davos Seaworth. They call me the Onion Knight. Also a complicated explanation.”

He waded back into the water and retrieved the boat, then motioned for me to sit in one end. I wiped my sword somewhat clean, sheathed it and complied. He climbed in and took up a pair of large wooden stick-like instruments he called “oars.” With his back to me, he rowed us toward the ship.

We actually have boats on dry Barsoom, and I had ridden them in our canals and down the River Iss. This was far different; the rolling motion soon had me regretting the platter of cold chicken I had eaten for Evening Meal. Soon after that it had joined the assorted garbage and scum floating on the harbor waters.

“These are terrible seas,” I moaned.

“Seas? Princess, we’re in a harbor. A perfectly calm harbor. These aren’t waves at all.”

There are gods, and they have sent me to hell for my lack of belief.

“I am nearing,” I said, “death by vomit.”

He tried to distract me. I sprawled across a pile of canvas in the front of the boat, staring up at the night sky to avoid seeing the moving water.

“What are you going to do,” he asked, “aboard _Sweet Cersei_?”

“Sweet Cersei?”

“The ship is named for Queen Cersei.”

“That,” I observed, “is an extraordinarily stupid name for a warship.”

The dead queen was having her revenge. She had reached from beyond death to afflict her killer with the uncontrollable urge to vomit. Ser Davos continued his efforts to take my mind off my sickness.

“What happened to your sister?”

“She and I took a room at an inn in this town,” I said. “I walked to the beach to see the sea by moonlight. While I was gone, the pirates took my sister. They dragged her onto a boat and then onto the ship named for Cersei. Like most women of these lands, she has been raped before. I do not know the details, only that it harmed her deeply. I promised that she would never be harmed again. Never be raped. I will not break that promise.”

I paused. My voice had become raspy with emotion.

“I will board that ship and I will kill every one of them.”

Davos Seaworth turned to look at me.

“You mean that.”

“Every word, every breath, every thought,” I said. “What do the queen’s men want with my sister?”

“They used to be the queen’s men. Now they’re just common pirates. If your sister is anywhere near as lovely as you, I think you know what they want. If not, they’ll likely kill her. And even if they do keep her, they’ll likely kill her after.”

I seethed with rage. I worked through my mental exercises to turn it into cold focus.

“How did they come to be pirates?”

“When things were looking poorly for Queen Cersei,” Ser Davos explained, “the commander of her navy, a man named Aurane Waters, took the fleet’s new ships and fled. He and the queen had been lovers. His other lover, who was also the queen’s other lover, fled with him – a vicious woman named Lady Taena Merryweather.

“If you could manage to kill them both, I’d consider my service more than amply rewarded.”

I remembered Cersei thinking of Taena, who she believed looked like me. She was likewise beautiful in Davos Seaworth’s memory, but much angrier than she had been in Cersei’s.

“I will do what I can,” I said. “Why were you a prisoner?”

“I was on a mission for my king, Stannis. I was shipwrecked and they picked me up. When they realized who I was, they put me in irons. I had unlocked the shackles and when most of the crew left the ship to raid this town, I stole this boat and fled. And now, idiot that I am, I’m rowing back to _Sweet Cersei_.”

As he rowed, he explained the layout of the ship, where armed men would most likely be found, and where the captain usually took prisoners. _Sweet Cersei_ was a type of warship called a “dromond,” powered by both sails and oars, and the very largest in the royal fleet though a bigger ship had been destroyed before completion. I had been very fortunate to find such a guide. My words had reached him; he very much hoped that I would succeed and gave me the best advice he knew.

He pulled the boat up alongside the front end of the ship, where a large metal-clad wooden point protruded from the hull. Ser Davos explained that this was used to ram other warships. He pointed at the deck of the ship far above.

“You’ll have to go up through the hawsehole,” he said.

“The what?”

“This thick line,” he said, “that’s what we call a rope, leads below the water to an anchor, a heavy piece of iron holding the ship in place. It leads up into the ship to a compartment behind that opening there. That opening’s called the hawsehole because . . . never mind. Sailors sneaking back aboard ship climb through that hole because there’s never anyone on duty in the hawser locker. See the hole next to it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the head,” he said. “Don’t climb through there.”

“Why not?”

“That’s where the crew, they, I’m sorry my lady,” the Onion Knight said. “That’s where the sailors shit.”

“I shall be careful.”

“When you kill Aurane Waters,” Ser Davos said, “be sure to give him my regards.”

“I shall do so.”

“The gods go with you.”

“There are no gods,” I said. “There is only retribution.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, it's not a good day to be a pirate.


	22. Chapter Sixteen (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris visits a ship.

Chapter Sixteen (Dejah Thoris)

I took off my boots and cloak, as Davos recommended, and climbed up the heavy rope hand-over-hand; it is easy with enhanced strength. I made sure not to look down, for I did not wish to resume vomiting. The Onion Knight watched from below, amazed at my climbing skills and admiring the shape of my ass but wondering if he had lost his mind.

As I looked upward, I saw that someone had decorated the front end of the ship with a golden statue of Cersei, holding a spear and wearing ringed armor. The sculptor had given her breasts even larger than those she had borne in life, sufficient to part the oncoming waters all on their own, but had accurately captured her sneering expression.

The hawsehole was narrow but I wriggled through. The little room called a locker was dark and as the Onion Knight had said, was unoccupied but filled with thick coiled ropes. While the ship did not roll as badly as had the little boat, it still rolled and I felt queasy. But I would not leave this place without my sister. I felt no alert thoughts behind the door of the little room in which I crouched, but there was someone on guard directly above me. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, then opened the little door and peeked into a low-ceilinged corridor.

It led only a short distance to a wide deck with benches on either side. Nearly-naked men slept on and under the benches, many of them chained to round iron fittings in the floor. A bored guard stood over them with his back to me; another stood at the opposite end of the deck. They wore red cloaks but no armor, and carried clubs in their hands but no other weapons.

These sleeping men must be the rowers the Onion Knight had described. As I looked more closely, I saw that the deck had large openings leading down to lower ranks of benches and sleeping rowers. Moonlight shone through matching openings in the deck above. I scanned for more guards and found two more pairs below.

Following the thoughts of the guard closest to me, I saw that he wished to relieve himself. Sure enough, he called out to the other guard that he was “visiting the head.” When he passed my dark corner I followed him into a tiny compartment. I stepped closely behind him, placed my hand over his mouth and stabbed him with my dagger under his ribs, working the blade back and forth. I held his mouth closed while he died, and left him sitting on the shelf in the compartment.

I put on his red cloak and his helmet; he was a young man and I am taller than most women, so we were about the same size. I walked back out and stood in his place; I would have to do something soon. The ship’s rolling and the smell of blood on my hands and dagger made me start retching again. I dropped to one knee to throw up and the other guard stalked across the deck.

“What in the bloody hells is wrong with you,” he shouted, “you gods-damned lubber?”

When he got close enough, I stabbed him in his large and round belly and twisted the blade. He threw his hands over the ugly wound, bent over and started sobbing. I took off the helmet and cloak and silenced him with my dagger. He fell to the deck.

“They’ll kill us all for that,” said one of the nearby rowers, now awake.

I wiped the dagger on the cloak, put it away and drew my sword.

“Not if you kill them first.”

I raced down the center of the deck, reaching across to either side as I ran to shatter the chains holding the rowers in place, using my sword’s splendid edge. When I reached the “aft” end, as I recalled Ser Davos’ descriptions, I dropped through the opening to the deck below. The guard there had heard the commotion and wondered how he should react. I grabbed him by the throat before he decided and smashed his head against the nearby wall – what Ser Davos had called a “bulkhead” – breaking his skull. His comrade at the opposite end of the deck fled. I again ran down the deck, cutting the rowers free.

Climbing back to the deck above, I ran aft toward Tansy’s thoughts. She was in a large compartment at the very back of the ship with seven other women. The thoughts inside revealed two guards, the Lord of the Waters and his henchwoman Taena. The captives had been lined up on their knees, and the first had been stripped of her thin tunic. As I approached the compartment Aurane Waters rejected her as “too poor to ransom, too ugly to fuck.” The lovely Lady Taena, laughing, stabbed her in the chest. She clasped her hands over her heart, pitched forward onto the deck and died. I had to hurry, before Taena did the same to Tansy.

A red-cloaked guard stood outside the door; he drew his sword but I kicked him in the chest. My legs had been very strong even before I landed on this planet; with my enhanced strength and an enormous surge of rage-induced adrenalin my bare foot struck the guard’s breastplate hard enough to cave in his chest, turning his heart to pulp and sending his corpse crashing through the door and into the room beyond. I pulled out my dagger and stepped through shattered remnants of the door. The sheer physical force of my anger surprised me later, but I spared no thought for it at the time. The guard had had the misfortune to bar my path to my sister.

Taena Merryweather stood immediately inside, facing the prisoners with her back turned towards me. She had just started to react to the noise when I clapped my hand around her shoulders and pulled her back firmly against my body. This close, she smelled of a pleasant flower scent. She wore a tight-fitting red tunic and really did resemble me, at least in body type; she was of the same height and proportions, with black hair that she wore just past her shoulders as I did, but olive-toned skin rather than my own copper-red. The point of my dagger now protruding from the center of her shapely chest was another difference.

She looked down at the dagger, softly said “Oh,” and dropped her knife. “Davos Seaworth sends his regards,” I whispered into her ear before I let her dying body fall to the deck. She should not have threatened my sister’s life.

Two armed and armored men stood behind the remaining prisoners, but they were not watching for an intruder. A tall man with long and well-styled silver-gold hair, who I recognized from the thoughts of Davos Seaworth as the Lord of the Waters, inspected the women. He had just ripped open the clothing of the woman next to Tansy and was about to pronounce judgement on her.

I strode across the compartment and stabbed the first guard in the eye with my dagger. I had been trying to stab him in the throat, but the rolling of the ship made it difficult to kill with any accuracy. The second guard stood in front of a wide bank of open windows that looked out over the harbor. I left my dagger in the first guard’s eye and grabbed the second by his sword arm as he tried to draw his blade. Then I slung him out of the window. He yelled incoherently until he hit the water, where the weight of his armor quickly pulled him under.

That left Lord Waters. He was tall and well-muscled, dressed in a billowy silk blouse, red to match that of his lover, with tight red leggings, black boots and a black sash around his waist. No wonder Cersei and Taena had become obsessed with him; he was quite beautiful. He had backed against the opposite wall. I drew my sword, as angry shouts and the clashing of metal could now be heard outside. The rowers were fighting the soldiers stationed aboard the ship, troops known as “marines.” The rebelling slaves were physically weak and untrained in arms, and they would not last much longer.

“Aurane Waters?” I asked. I did not wait for a reply, and repeated, “Davos Seaworth sends his regards.”

I tried to finish those dramatic words by running him though the heart, but the ship lurched and I stuck him in the upper right arm instead.

“Ow! That hurt, wench!”

I gave up on the drama and resorted to a two-handed stroke aimed at his neck in order to remove his head. This time I slashed him across his perfect face, taking off only the top half of his head. Blood and brain flew across the compartment and spattered the prisoners. He slumped to the floor next to his lover, the nude body of the pale, fat woman she had murdered and the ravaged corpse of the guard I had kicked through the door.

A small set of stairs led to the main deck, where a group of marines milled about and forced back any rowers trying to climb up from below. The rowers were dying quickly; I did not have much time. I cut the women free, telling them to run. Tansy threw herself on me.

“I thought you must be dead,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was so frightened.”

She clasped me tightly and cried. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

“No matter what happens,” I said, “I will always, always come for you. I will not be separated from my sister.”

I glanced at Lady Taena, now sprawled on her back with her with her arms and legs spread-eagled and her dark eyes staring sightlessly upward. The tight-fitting red tunic left her well-toned abdomen bare up to her lower ribs, with a short matching red skirt below, high-topped black boots and a black sash around her waist. I deeply wished to strip her and take the outfit for myself; it would surely fit me and I would look beautiful and deadly in it. But a wide bloodstain and a dagger-inflicted rip ruined the front of the garment, with matching ones no doubt marring the back. I should have snapped her delicate neck instead; I again regretted killing before thinking. Reluctantly I left her where she lay, retrieved my sister and my dagger and rushed up the stairs and into the open.

“Grab the back of my harness and stay right behind me,” I told Tansy. She nodded quickly; her thoughts said she was unhurt. My joy at having her returned to me felt physically painful. “We have to fight our way back to the front end of the ship. A friend waits there.”

The marines had not seen us yet. I noticed a war machine on the deck above and behind us, a device for hurling large arrows. Apparently the crew had been prepared for battle, for a large wooden basket next to the machine had been filled with long, iron arrows. I climbed another tiny set of stairs to the ship’s topmost deck with Tansy right behind me.

We hunt with javelins on Barsoom; throwing them is a skill required of noble women. I had never liked the idea of killing animals for sport – as John Carter liked to say, hunting will become a sport when they give the prey a gun. But I had always been very good at throwing the javelin. I hefted one of the arrows; it was about the same length as a hunting javelin but heavier. With my enhanced strength this presented no obstacle and would probably make the missile fly truer and with more force.

The first marine I hit with an arrow slowly spun fully around and then toppled into the lower decks below. A man beside him looked up to see where the missile had originated; he took the next one through the chest. I continued to fling the deadly arrows at the marines. Some ran away and the braver ones rushed to attack me.

I had but one arrow left when the first marine reached me; I used it to stab him in the chest and then hurled it at the second marine. At such a close range it fully penetrated his body and killed the man behind him as well. There were only two men left standing and I now drew my sword and charged them, yelling wildly. The first received a two-handed cut across his chest and the second an upward cut under his jaw that split his skull.

And now the main deck stood empty. I led Tansy to the front of the ship, what Ser Davos called the “bow,” and saw him still below in his little boat.

“Can you climb down there?” I asked her.

“Dejah,” she said, “we can’t leave the other prisoners.”

“I came here for my sister.”

“They deserve the same chance I have.”

I made a horse-like sound of frustration. And I wished to vomit again.

“Can you swim?” I asked instead.

“I’m a Riverlands girl.”

“So jump.”

She did.

I looked back down the deck. Bodies sprawled in grotesque positions, many of them skewered by the heavy iron arrows. Elsewhere rowers and marines lay as they had fallen, choking the life out of one another. I marched towards the captain’s cabin; I could hear sounds of struggle from below but this time no one stood in my way.

I heard sounds coming from the outside of the ship, and cautiously peeked over the edge. A boat had pulled alongside the ship and the men within called for the crew to lower a cargo net. I could not allow them to pursue Davos Seaworth’s little boat, so I looked about the deck. Another war machine stood mounted nearby, though this one had no iron arrows. I put my shoulder to its side and pushed until it broke free of the deck. It was very heavy, even for one of enhanced strength. I dragged it to the edge of the deck and balanced it on the railing above the boat below. When I thought I had it aligned, I shoved the broken war machine over the edge.

The machine crashed through the bottom of the boat. The men within began to yell. Some of them screamed instead; the device had apparently crushed someone when it landed. The boat quickly filled with water and sank, while the men flailed in the sea. Their thoughts indicated that most of them could not swim; my thoughts indicated that I did not care. Perhaps they should have chosen a different career.

When I reached the captain’s cabin the women were no longer there, other than the well-dressed corpse of Lady Taena and the three other bodies. For a moment I was glad that I had killed Taena; she had threatened my sister’s life. But how different were we, really? We looked alike, we had both made love to Cersei, and I had even wished to take on her clothing – a psychologist on Barsoom would not have missed the import of that symbolism. She had committed murder, but had I not also put a blade through the heart of an innocent, unattractive woman? Once in Harrenhal, and again the unfortunate Dorcas?

If I could not take Taena’s outfit, perhaps I could relieve her of her boots. I picked up her foot and placed my own against it; her feet were much smaller than mine. I let her leg drop as I stopped and retched again, now only capable of dry heaving. I scanned for the thoughts of the remaining female prisoners but could only locate one for sure; she had joined a group of rowers struggling to reach the main deck and was energetically beating a sailor with a piece of wood. I knew that I would never find them all. Their best chance was for the crew to give up their fight with the rowers.

Outside the cabin, a tall dark-haired man in a well-made red cloak and armor called for me to stop; his thoughts labelled him a ship’s officer. I cut his legs out from under him and pointed my sword at his throat he lay on the deck.

“What is happening below?” I asked.

He said nothing, but his thoughts revealed that the rowers had freed their comrades on the lowest deck and in the darkness were still resisting the marines. Many were dead and without their captain the crew was considering abandoning the ship.

“You are in charge here?” I asked again.

Again, he said nothing, but he was second to Aurane Waters.

“The Lord of the Waters is dead,” I told him. “I took his head. Most of his head. You command this vessel now. And you will do as I say.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I will kill you,” I said, without emotion. “It is of no importance to me. But you may do me a small service, and in exchange you might live.”

A pair of sailors rushed up to us. I showed them my bloody sword. They ran in the opposite direction.

“Your crew will not save you,” I said.

“No, I suppose not.”

I took his weapons and threw them out of the rear window of the captain’s cabin. Taking the officer by the collar, I dragged him up the small staircase and up another to a deck that overlooked the lower middle part of the ship. I leaned him against a railing.

“Tell your crew to leave this ship.”

“I swore an oath,” he said, “to defend the ship.”

“You swore an oath to some king or queen before that, did you not? You are a pirate now, without honor.”

“Fair enough.”

He leaned over the rail, cupped his hands in front of his mouth and began to bellow in a voice far louder than I expected, “Abandon ship! All hands, abandon ship!”

Now the deck became crowded with sailors, milling about in panic and wondering how to get aboard the ship’s boats. Some of these were secured to the deck and along its edges. Others were still on the beach, and three or four were tied to the sides of the ship. Some of the panicked sailors did not wait, but jumped into the water below. Most, I picked up from their thoughts, also could not swim.

A narrow beam connected this raised part of the ship to the similar raised part at the other end; I saw now that it was used to help lift the larger boats stowed on deck. But it also gave a route to my destination, so I wiped my sword on the officer's tunic, sheathed it and climbed up onto the beam.

“I’ll bleed to death here.”

“Not if your crew saves you,” I said. “I hope you were a good officer.”

“You promised that I would live,” he said, ignoring my comment.

“I said that you might live. Perhaps you will.”

I walked carefully down the beam, only slightly wider than my foot. As the ship rolled from side to side, I again wanted to vomit. When I reached a mast I had to carefully edge my way around it and resume my perilous journey. Below me I felt that the rowers had emerged from below and now fought the crew for possession of the boats. A few of both sides looked up at me but no one interfered. The ship’s steady roll made the walk difficult, but eventually I made it to the raised section at the front of the ship. The “fore castle,” Davos Seaworth would have said.

A large lamp hung on a hook at the very front end, fueled by some kind of burning oil – I had not seen these people use liquid fuels for anything other than lighting. I looked at its flame and had an idea. I took it down and returned to the hawser locker where I had first entered the ship. As I recalled, the thick ropes stored there were heavily coated in black tar. If this tar was anything like the similar plant-based substances of Barsoom the ropes would be highly flammable. I threw the lantern at the pile of coiled rope hard enough to shatter the lamp. The tar was indeed highly flammable.

Since I now could not exit through the hawse-hole, I returned to the deck and looked down. I wanted to retch but held it in. I saw Davos and Tansy below in the little boat. I clambered down the side of the ship to the anchor rope and began to climb down it. As I did, its tar coating caught fire.

I yelped when the fire reached my hands, and involuntarily let go of the rope. I plunged into very cold water that pressed the air out of my lungs.

I could not breathe. I had to reach the surface. I kept stroking my arms and kicking my legs but there was nothing around me but water. I knew I would sink to the bottom of the sea and die. I felt a strong hand grab my upper arm. I was being dragged to my death and could do nothing to stop it.

Soon after, someone was pounding on my chest and breathing into my mouth. I coughed up an enormous amount of water. I was lying in the bottom of Davos Seaworth’s little boat, with Tansy straddling me and pressing on my chest. Her transparent wet shift clung tightly to her body, and I realized that she must have been the one to dive into the water and pull me out. I have lived for 441 of Barsoom’s long years and have never seen anyone or anything quite so beautiful. I was filled with love for my sister, and with sea water.

“She’s breathing,” I heard her say.

“Good,” someone replied. “She’s going to want to puke soon.”

“Too late.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not my boat.”

Behind us, _Sweet Cersei_ ’s bow exploded into flames which then raced down the ship and up its masts.

“Paint locker,” the male voice explained. “They store paint next to the hawser locker. The princess couldn’t have set her fire in a deadlier location.”

Tansy and Davos pulled me out of the boat after the Onion Knight ran it aground on the beach, each placing one of my arms over their shoulders and then wrapping an arm around my waist. I could not give much help and at times my feet simply slid along the sand. With frequent stops and much cursing they dragged me back to the inn, which somehow was still operating as though slave raids were a regular occurrence. Maybe they were. Someone had removed the repulsively fat pirate pinned to the table in the common room; I spotted a fresh bloodstain and a hole where his sword had been stuck into the wood.

Inside our room, Tansy pulled off my harness, rubbed me with a soft cloth known as a “towel” and poured me into the bed, curling around me to lend me her warmth. Ser Davos tried not to watch, but I picked up flickers from his mind revealing that he peeked a little. He retrieved the daggers I wore on my harness, stuck them in the top of the large wooden table in the middle of the room, and fell asleep in a chair with the weapons in easy reach.

* * *

In the morning, _Sweet Cersei_ had rolled onto her side. The harbor was not deep enough to cover the ship and part of her still-burning hull poked above the waters; other burnt ships had joined her on the shallow bottom. The rest of the pirate fleet had left, but not before putting all of the ships in the harbor to the torch.

The inn’s common room had been thoroughly wrecked by the raiders, but the inn’s cook had gone back to work as though nothing unusual had happened. The three of us took some bacon and bread to eat outside in a small garden. I had a very weak appetite after all of the stress put on my digestion on the previous night, but my sword and daggers needed cleaning. I also needed to buy a new scabbard and sheathes in Duskendale; the blood and salt water had ruined those I had worn aboard the ship.

We could see the smoking wreck from the garden, and I gazed at the missed opportunity. I could think of no way to remove the golden statue of Cersei without using several boats and many workers. Perhaps I could stand in Ser Davos’ little boat and use an axe to chop off her golden head? I regretted leaving the ship without taking any valuables.

“What are you thinking about?” Tansy asked. “You keep staring at the ship.”

“I wonder if I could cut off part of Cersei’s golden statue,” I said. “It must be worth a great deal.”

“And just how,” my sister asked, “would you spend a golden boob?”

She raised a reasonable point; I could make no answer.

“The figurehead’s not pure gold,” Ser Davos said. “At best it’s just gold leaf.”

“Gold leaf?” I asked.

“Thin plates of gold,” he said, holding two fingers almost together. I noticed for the first time that only one of his hands had complete fingers. “They’re hammered still thinner until they’re flexible like cloth, then pressed over a wooden form.”

“I did not have the chance to check the bodies of those I killed to take their money,” I said. “Pirates should have had a great deal, should they not?”

“You rob the dead?” Davos asked.

“It is the way of my lands.”

I looked at my sister.

“I brought back the only thing on that ship that mattered.”

“Tansy tells me you killed Aurane Waters,” Davos said. “Thank you.”

“I gave him your regards,” I said. “I killed Taena as well, and whispered the same into her ear as she died.”

“I didn’t mean that you actually had to mention my name,” Davos said, “but thank you again.”

“She wore a beautiful outfit,” I said. “I wanted to take it but it had been ruined by my dagger.”

“You’re nothing like her,” said the Onion Knight. “It’s better you not look like her.”

He was likely correct, but I have always been vain about my appearance. A princess must look the part at all times. I had rarely done so here, often covering my body with ugly rags rather than showing the perfect form that confirmed my royal breeding. Since no one on this planet could recognize that, showing my body meant receiving unwelcome thoughts of sexual fantasies but none of the respect I would have garnered on Barsoom.

I finished my food and laid my weapons, a small flask of oil and several clean cloths on the small stone table so I could begin to clean them properly.

“It was a messy fight,” I said as I worked on a dagger, formerly Cersei’s dagger, “with the ship’s deck rolling wildly.”

“Princess,” Davos said, “that wasn’t a rolling deck. Ships are never any calmer than what you saw last night.”

“Then I am not boarding another ship,” I said. “What about you? What will you do now?”

“I must rejoin my king,” he said. “I failed in the mission I’d undertaken, but he needs me all the same. He’s somewhere in the North, so I’m thinking I’ll find a way to Maidenpool and take ship there for the North.”

“Where is Maidenpool?” I asked.

“North of here,” he said, “a few days’ ride. It’s a small port but I should be able to find a ship unless the pirates have been there, too.”

“We also head north,” I said as I laid down the dagger and picked up my sword. As always, I felt a small thrill from its touch. “I must find my husband.”

“He’s in the north?”

“I do not know,” I said. “He is a great warrior and where there is war, there I will find him. He is attracted to war.” More than he was attracted to me, I added silently.

“There’s plenty of war in the North,” he said. “You could take ship with me.”

“I have seen enough of ships, Davos Seaworth.”

“I don’t blame you. And you, Tansy?”

“I’ll go where my sister goes,” Tansy said. “What if she falls into a bathtub?”

“You don’t look alike,” Davis said, “but the way you saved each other last night . . . aye, you’re sisters. When you went under, Princess, Tansy dove right in after you. I thought I’d not see either of you again.”

I reached over and squeezed my sister’s hand. I had expected to die in the water.

“Is Maidenpool,” I asked, “on the road to the North?”

“Yes, or at least it can be.”

“Then you will ride with us,” I said. “I have an extra horse.”

“Are the horses . . .” Tansy feared to complete her question.

“Yes,” I said. “The raiders never came close to them. Our belongings left with them are likewise secure.”

Davos Seaworth wondered how I knew that with such surety, but said nothing aloud.

“Again, I thank you,” he said instead. “That is a great help to me.”

“You would not,” I asked, “rather go home?”

“Of course I would,” he said. “But my duty is to my king.”

“He has earned this devotion?”

“He is just,” Davos answered. “A just man in an unjust world. That’s a rare thing and not to be scorned.”

“Is he a good man?”

“That . . . is more difficult to say,” he said slowly. “I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘good’.”

“So he is not.”

“Stannis raised me from nothing,” the Onion Knight said. “I’m not like to forget that.”

“I understand,” I said. “Just men – and women – are rare in our lands as well.”

“When do we leave?” he asked.

“I also wish to leave this place,” I said, laying down my clean sword. “But I need rest after my almost-fatal encounters with drowning and vomit.”

We stayed in the inn two more nights, and during this time I never let Tansy out of my sight. She swam in the ocean, while I enjoyed feeling the sun on my bare flesh; Tansy could not stand the direct sunlight without suffering radiation damage to her skin but we of Barsoom do not experience the painful condition she called “sunburn.” Ser Davos humored us as best he could, but remained impatient to rejoin his king. He finally relented and spent some time attempting to catch fish from the surf, using a long pole and a thick string connected to a metal hook.

I did learn to approach the ocean during daylight, and on our last day I even walked barefoot out into the surf up to my knees. I could learn to enjoy this, I decided, but it would take a good deal more acclimation. The water bothered me less than did the broad horizon.

Davos worried that sharing our room might be improper; I told him to tell anyone who asked that he was our father. He accepted this, though in the event no one questioned his presence. He slept on our floor and accompanied us to the shore, patiently answering my questions about the ocean, its creatures and the ships that sailed upon it.

“You have never seen the ocean?” Ser Davos asked as I watched Tansy swim in the surf. The Onion Knight sat next to me in a reversed position, with his back to the sea and facing the sand dunes, as my sister was naked and it would be improper to gaze upon her flesh, despite his great desire to gaze upon my sister’s wet, bare flesh. I maintained a watch with my eyes and my mind for the deadly sea creatures called “sharks” but located only friendly and surprisingly intelligent beings Ser Davos named “dolphins.”

“How did you get here from Sothoryos,” he asked me, “without crossing the sea?”

“I do not know,” I said, mostly truthfully. “I wished to be near my husband, and I appeared in a forest clearing in the River Lands.”

“Magic?”

“I do not believe in gods, or magic.”

“Can you explain your arrival then?”

“No,” I said. “It bothers me to admit this.”

“I’ve lived far longer than you,” he said, unaware that the opposite was true, “and seen many things I can’t explain. That it seems no one can explain.”

“I will grant you this,” I allowed, “but that simply means that one needs more information.”

They had no word exactly matching _data_ , nor any real grasp of analysis. As best as I could glean from my encounters so far, they looked at evidence and made guesses, often invoking their gods.

“You believe that any event,” he asked, somewhat surprised to be discussing philosophy with a woman, “can be understood by Man?”

“Yes, with enough study and information.”

“There’s nothing reserved for the gods to know?”

“No,” I answered, “since there are no gods, there is no knowledge reserved to them. All knowledge is open to Man, if we can but understand it.”

He nodded.

“Sound logic, Princess. Can’t say I agree, but I follow the path well enough.”

Tansy came running up from the surf, beautiful as the sunlight hit the drops of water on her bare skin. She had become very fit since the first time I saw her remove her clothing. Before my marriage to John Carter, I had had little preference between male and female lovers. Even before leaving Barsoom I had noticed myself becoming much more attracted to women, even those of the clearly related but different species found on this planet. I considered turning around to join Davos in staring at the dunes.

“Enjoy yourself?” I asked Tansy as she rubbed herself with a towel.

“Wonderful,” she said. “Winter’s coming and it’ll be years before anyone can do that again. But we’re not here for the waters, are we? Are you ready to ride?”

“I am,” I said. “Ser Davos?”

“Been waiting to hear that for days.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Tansy meets no one.


	23. Chapter Seven (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter commits extortion.

Chapter Seven (John Carter)

I thoroughly enjoyed the ride to Myr, taking time to hunt with bow and javelin alongside small groups of Dothraki leaders - a time-honored tradition among my new people and one vital to forging a bond between a khal and his _ko_ s. I also trained with the 600 men I had levied from the khalasar, working with swordplay and with formation riding.

I found enough weapons among the khal’s personal possessions and the blacksmiths’ inventory to make sure each of them had a horse-arakh, lance and bow. While the Dothraki had a reputation as fierce warriors, I had already realized that this was not exactly true. As individual fighters they were splendid, afoot or on horseback. They had great instincts for scouting, screening and disruption - all the tasks of light cavalry. As battle cavalry, they lacked the armor and weapons to truly make an impact in a charge. Nor could they be easily trained and equipped for that role.

Neither Drogo, nor Illyrio and Varys, had had any clue of this deficiency. Fortunately, it appeared that few of our potential enemies realized this, either. We needed to rely on intimidation wherever possible and avoid open battles where that deadly reputation might be punctured. Once we’d acquired trained and steady infantry, and perhaps heavy cavalry, I could retain the Dothraki on the duties best suited to them. Until then, when forced to fight we would deploy speed and shock to cover our weaknesses.

Amateurs talk about tactics, veterans study logistics. By default, the Dothraki had a primitive system of camp followers bringing up wagons of food and fodder, and smiths shoeing horses and repairing or making weapons. Only the cities could supply the literate men I needed to manage my army’s sustenance. I had starved while part of the Army of Northern Virginia, feeling lucky when I ate parched corn and seared horseflesh.

The Confederacy stood for a noble cause, the freedom of men to hold the property they had earned by righteous toil, and her sons had defended that freedom with honor. Yet her armies had been badly served, staffed by the cowardly and the inept while her finest men fought in the front lines of combat. We faced a well-supplied enemy yet despite our country’s riches our men wore rags, carried inferior weapons, often went barefoot, and worst of all wasted away from the lack of food. I’d not allow that to happen to my new forces.

The 600 men provided for my personal guard would be the core of the new Dothraki army that would replace the horde. I named them my Companions and ordered my _ko_ s to select another 300 young warriors newly accepted into manhood to train alongside them. These youths would serve my Companions, learn from them and most importantly learn from me. When they grew into full adulthood, they would give me a cadre of seasoned officers firmly loyal to their khal.

Somewhere, I would need to find an equally skilled and loyal cadre of staff officers.

* * *

We continued southward. I rode alone with my thoughts, some short distance ahead of my wife and her handmaids, and behind a troop of my Dothraki Companions. Doreah pulled her horse alongside mine; she had become a respectable rider for a woman, though not nearly as skilled as Irri.

“You’re neglecting your wife,” she said. Her lack of proper respect annoyed me, but with no one close enough to hear I allowed it to pass. She was a slave, but at least we were of the same race.

“I thought you disliked Daenerys.”

“I do,” she said. “She’s difficult, ignorant and spoiled. When you ignore her, she takes it out on me.”

My khaleesi had shown her annoyance with sound slaps. Daenerys could see us speaking, else I would have slapped Doreah myself for her insolence.

“That’s what you’re there for,” I said instead. “I’ve acted as her husband nearly every night.”

“I’m not talking about fucking her,” she said. “She’s back there right now sniffling away tears at the way you ignore her.”

“I fuck you and Calye,” I answered. “I make love to Daenerys.”

“No one here even speaks her language,” Doreah said, ignoring my response. “Just you, me and Mormont. And he can’t talk to her without staring at her pert little tits so hard that even she notices.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Talk to her,” my lovely slave said. “Include her. Do something with her besides just fucking her.”

“So you don’t have to.”

“Of course so I don’t have to,” she shook her head. “Do you really want her outlook on life, and on you, to come from talking to me?”

“I will consider it.”

And I did consider what to do to make my princess happy, and to punish her slave’s impertinence. And to head off my chief of staff’s improper thoughts about my wife. Perhaps I could solve those latter two problems at once.

“Tonight, I will attend to my khaleesi without your assistance,” I told Doreah. “You will attend to Ser Jorah’s needs.”

She hated me in that instant with a white-hot intensity that I would have felt without the aid of telepathy.

“You are my slave,” I reminded her. “And this is my will.”

She stared straight ahead, saying nothing.

“The proper response is, ‘As you wish, my khal’.”

“As you wish, my khal,” she choked out. “May I go now?”

I nodded. I would, in time, come to regret not killing Doreah. But that moment lay in the future. In my naivete I did not yet understand the true depravity to which a woman can sink, nor did I understand that the protections of chivalry cannot extend to women who murder. I had not yet encountered Doreah’s future patron and perverted lover, Dejah Thoris.

* * *

Illyrio’s maps turned out to be incorrect; over the years I would find few accurate maps of my new world. While my Dothraki warriors appeared fully capable of matching the 35 miles per day that J.E.B. Stuart had expected of the Army of Northern Virginia’s cavalry, a sizeable train followed in our wake. These included women, children, slaves and herds, almost all of them shuffling along on foot, and the handful of actual services the Dothraki maintained like the blacksmiths and healers.

There were no elderly or crippled Dothraki; Pono told me that these were “sent to the Night Lands” as humanely as possible when they could no longer keep up the pace. Even so, these impediments slowed our pace to no better than 20 miles a day and it took 18 days before Pono’s outriders reported that they could see Myr. I rode forward to join them and saw a city almost as large as Pentos, ringed by thick walls of well-dressed gray stone. As yet the guards seemed unaware of our approach, as heavy wagon traffic moved in and out of the open city gates.

Low hills ringed the city’s landward side, with suburbs beginning on their lower slope and extending up to the walls. The rulers had allowed wooden structures to be built right up to the moat at the foot of the fortifications, which would allow any attacker to approach very close to the city while remaining under cover. No one had assaulted Myr for many years.

I observed the scene quietly for a few moments. As I had instructed, Pono had kept his men behind the hills and out of sight of the walls. I waited until Jhaqo and Aggo had joined us, along with Mormont and Orange Cat.

“Orange Cat,” I said, curious as to the Unsullied’s thoughts on strategy. “How would you capture this city?”

“They are not alert,” he said. “Spread the Dothraki behind the hills, in a broad arc. At your signal, they will cut all communications. Send men with wagons into the city, men who are not Dothraki. They will have an accident inside the gateway so that it cannot be closed. Before the broken wagon can be cleared, a force of Dothraki will ride quickly into the opening and secure the gate.”

I was impressed, as was Pono. Jhaqo and Aggo did not understand Orange Cat’s tongue, known as Bastard Valyrian. Pono described the Unsullied’s advice to them.

“Okay,” I said. “Excellent suggestions.”

“Okay, my khal?” Mormont asked.

“And expression of my homeland, Virginia,” I said. “It shows approval, or that all is in order, or acceptance of something that’s said, or that a person is healthy or in good spirits.”

“A useful word,” he nodded. “Okay.”

The Common Speech of Westeros closely followed the English I had spoken in Virginia, but without “okay” it seemed a strange and foreign tongue.

“So it is,” I said, and turned to Orange Cat. “I didn’t know that the Unsullied studied strategy.”

“This one can read, Khal John,” Orange Cat explained. Had he not been Unsullied, I would have suspected him of saying so with pride. “Master Illyrio allows all who serve to read from his books. Few others can do so.”

“Illyrio owns books on strategy?”

“This one does not know, Khal John. Master Illyrio has many books telling of ancient battles and wars.”

Most of Illyrio’s collection consisted of pornography and erotica, according to Orange Cat’s thoughts. Neither had been of much interest to a eunuch.

“There will be no battle today,” I said. “We will threaten the Myrmen and force them to pay us gold. That will bring us more weapons, and more crawlers.”

“We take crawlers from the city?” Jhaqo asked. “As part of the tribute?”

I had not given consideration to such a demand, but now that Jhaqo voiced it, I found it a good idea.

“Yes,” I said. “Orange Cat, how many Unsullied are found in Myr?”

“This one does not know, Khal John.”

“At a guess?”

“Pentos had perhaps seven hundred,” he said. “Myr appears somewhat smaller.”

I knew from my work with Illyrio’s Unsullied that they could train new recruits, and many owners used them for this purpose.

“We’ll take all of their Unsullied,” I said, with Mormont repeating my words in Dothraki. “Or as many as we can get them to admit they have without tying us down hunting them. And their bravos, which should make them happy. And some sons of leading merchants to serve as hostages, and whatever petty criminals they wish to donate.”

“They will need weapons, my khal,” Aggo said. “We have few extra arms.”

“Then the Myrish,” I said, “will supply those as well.”

“The Myrish are known for crossbows,” Orange Cat suddenly blurted out. “Fine crossbows, and the men who wield them.”

“They defend their walls with them?”

“This one does not know,” Orange Cat admitted. “They are hired for war by others, both in these lands and in Westeros.”

“So the Myrish hire others to do their fighting,” I said, sussing out this irony, “while hiring out their own fighting men to fight elsewhere?”

“It’s more profitable,” Mormont explained. “Their own men can make money all or most of the time, while they only pay for troops when they need them.”

“Then we will see if we can hire some crossbowmen,” I decided. “We’ll likely need to offer them a gift in return.”

“Their lives,” Jhaqo said, “should be enough.”

“I like that idea,” I said. “They may not see it that way. We’ll offer protection. We’ll declare at Vaes Dothrak that any khal that wars on Myr wars on our khalasar. Is that in accord with tradition?”

“But all khals are to be brought under your whip,” Aggo said. “They are speaking with the only khal.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But the Myrish don’t know that yet.”

“Khals have offered protection to the lamb men before,” Pono said. “There is nothing unseemly here. It is . . . okay.”

“How will the crawlers keep pace?” Jhaqo asked. “And how will we feed them in the Great Grass Sea?”

He posed an excellent set of questions. We could easily see our foot soldiers waste away before they fought a single battle. As yet, I had no commander either trustworthy or skilled enough for independent command.

“They’re no slower than the herds and slaves who follow the khalasar,” I said. “Let them march with them, and they can guard them once they are trained. Ser Jorah?”

“I fear,” he said, “that many would die on the march to Vaes Dothrak, who could be welded into soldiers instead.”

I didn’t doubt that, but neither did I see how I could leave them without their deserting or being overrun by some as yet unknown enemy.

“Orange Cat,” I turned to the dour Unsullied. “You will command the Unsullied we collect. They will train the new men in arms, marching and formation combat. You can do this?”

“This one can do this,” he affirmed. “Unsullied trained in command and in teaching others. Not all speak this language as well as this one.”

I could not personally oversee all of the needed training. I would need to write a manual of arms, and have it copied. I didn’t know if these lands knew the printing press.

“And when we return?” Pono asked, knowing the answer already.

“When we return from the Great Grass Sea, all of the Free Cities will bow before the Stallion Who Mounts the World.”

We retreated a few hundred yards behind the hill, where I described what I wanted. The khalasar would deploy behind the hills, out of sight of the walls of Myr, and slowly advance in a crescent formation to stand outside of arrow range. I would have preferred to have my riders appear at once, dramatically silhouetted on the crests, but they could not be hidden from view and still appear in a timely fashion.

“We seek to intimidate,” I said. “And bend the Myrmen to our will.”

“Drogo did this as well,” Pono said. “We would ride past at speed, screaming and waving weapons.”

“That can be effective,” I said. “But today I wish for the khalasar to advance slowly and silently. I wish for the Myrmen to have time to count our riders, to see our strength, and to fear it. A fast ride allows them to tell themselves we are fewer than they fear. I want them to see their fears and know them.

“Do not molest any merchants or farmers entering or exiting the city. I need them to imagine what we might do and to fear it. Fear of the unknown is greater than that of the known.”

“It is known,” Pono said, and the others followed. I should have brought Irri with me.

* * *

As the sun already approached the sea behind Myr, I ordered the khalasar to pull back and form an encampment several miles outside the city. I was pleased to see them establish pickets and erect temporary fencing to hold the herds of horses and cattle, all without my orders. It would take more time before they fully adopted my sanitary instructions, and some continued to eliminate their waste in random places as the urge struck them, just as their Horse God bade them.

While I found Doreah’s insolence bordering on the unacceptable, I could not deny the truth behind her sarcastic observations. I had made it a habit to take Calye for a ride at sundown so that I could take her under the first darkness and thus ease the urgency of my manly needs when I made love to Daenerys later at night.

“You will remain with the household slaves,” I told Calye when I found her ineptly trying to tack up her horse. “I will ride with my princess this evening.”

Tears began to fall down her face.

“You’re going to . . . to fuck her twice instead of each of us once.”

“She is khaleesi,” I said, “and beautiful. You are neither.”

“I haven’t . . . haven’t asked you for anything,” she sobbed. “Just don’t set me aside. Don’t forget what I . . . what I did for you. You wouldn’t be here without me.”

She seemed to not understand that I had the right to kill her without penalty or even explanation. But I would not deliberately kill a woman, and so I forgave Calye. In a moment of weakness, I even brushed away her tears.

“I’ll still have need of you,” I said, and then kissed her. “But not tonight.”

That evening, I dined alone with my khaleesi. Doreah’s threat to turn her against me echoed in my mind. My household slaves prepared a table under the open sky, with roasted duck, the flat bread of the Dothraki, and wine in rough wooden cups. It was far better fare than I had known while riding with Fitz Lee, but I knew it unsuitable for a princess.

“My apologies, my princess,” I said after seating her. “One has limited choices for dining, while on campaign.”

“We were in exile my entire life, my chieftain. My brother told me about the wonderful feasts we’d enjoy when he had his crown, but we ate what could be spared for the Beggar King.”

“You went hungry?”

“No,” she said. “We were never truly beggars. Always some supporter of our family made sure we had food, clothing, shelter. But no more than that.”

“You’ll be queen of Westeros,” I said. “And Essos as well. For now, though, khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea will have to suffice.”

“I know it’s my birthright,” she said. “And that it won’t become reality overnight.”

She was terribly lonely, her thoughts showed, but feared to tell me this. Doreah had been right. Even that silent admission pained me.

“I’ve done wrong by you, my princess,” I said. “I’ve left you alone with no companions at all.”

“I have Doreah,” she said. “She’s taught me a great deal. And I have Irri and Jhiqui, but I can only speak a few words to them.”

“When we leave Myr,” I said, “you will ride alongside me. You’ll be by my side as I conquer both these lands and Westeros in your name, and you will be by my side as I rule them.”

“The throne is mine by birth,” she said, in a surprisingly forthright tone though she did not wish to anger me. “I’m the last dragon.”

“Birth will not return the throne to you, my love,” I said as gently as I could. “We’ll have to take it by force.”

“Illyrio said the people are waiting for us, that they make banners in secret. Viserys told me.”

“I was there,” I said. “Illyrio made it all up from thin air. It’s not enough to claim birthright. We have to offer them something better than what they have now.”

She stared at her duck for a moment, then looked up at me.

“I’m just a girl,” she said. “I know nothing of these things. Only what my brother told me, and now you tell me that these are all lies. And I see you with your Dothraki, leading them, and remember him begging, leading no one . . . he lied, didn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so, my princess.”

“What will you do with me?” she asked, rather timidly. “Are you just going to use me, like you do Calye?”

“What do you know about Calye?”

“That you . . . do the things to her that a man does to a woman. Even though you have a wife.”

“Doreah told you this?”

“Yes. Did she lie?”

Had Doreah been present in that moment, I might have slain her. I remained calm and held my princess’ delicate little hand. She did not draw away, as I had feared.

“No,” I said. “That’s the way of men, of men who rule at least. Men of power. We have far greater needs than ordinary men. You’re my princess, my khaleesi, and I wouldn’t ask you to meet my base needs. You deserve better than that.”

“Viserys said I had to please Drogo. Do I not please you?”

“You do please me,” I said. “More than I can say in words. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and you’re my khaleesi, the woman who will bear my heirs and rule alongside me.”

“I know that men have needs,” Daenerys said. “Doreah told me what she did before she came to me. How married men, powerful men, came to her for release, and spared their wives that task.

“I’m not afraid of that task,” she said, meeting my gaze with her unusual violet eyes. “I’ll be your queen, your partner, your whore. I’ll be every woman you’ve ever wanted or needed. Let me be that woman. Let me into your life, John Carter.”

I had never been so aroused. I stood, uneasily, and held out my hand.

“Come with me,” I said, my voice unsteady. “Let’s take an evening ride.”

Hand-in-hand, we walked to the horse pens, where Demon and her silver mare stood already saddled. I told the boy tending the horses to untack the silver, boosted Daenerys onto Demon and then mounted behind her.

Night was falling as we rode out into the empty pasturelands surrounding the khalasar’s encampment. I took no guards and exchanged recognition with one of the Dothraki pickets who allowed us to ride on unescorted without objection, fully understanding our purpose and approving. He had already waved several couples past on the same mission.

We stopped atop a low hill; the brilliance of the stars above almost caused me to fall from the saddle. It felt as though the two of us were the only people in this world.

“Doreah said . . .” Daenerys began, then stopped, embarrassed.

“Go on,” I encouraged her, resting my hand atop her thigh. She pressed her backside against me, and my manhood responded.

“She said the Dothraki make love in the saddle, sometimes,” she said. “And that you’re more Dothraki than the Dothraki.”

“The first of those is true,” I said. “I doubt the second is, not yet, anyway.”

“You would like it to be?”

“More Dothraki than the Dothraki?” I laughed. “I don’t think so. I admire many of their ways, I can’t deny. The simplicity of their lives, their honesty. Their rejection of money or the lust for possessions. No chains of gold bind them; they are truly free men.”

“Doreah says they’re violent,” Deanerys said. “That they rape, they keep slaves, they burn, plunder and murder.”

“You shouldn’t listen to Doreah,” I said. “She was given to you, to teach you the ways of love. Not the ways of the world at large.”

“She’s the only one I can talk to,” Daenerys said. “I can tell she doesn’t like me, and she treats me like a silly child. Sometimes she makes me so angry that I slap her. But she’s taught me a great deal. Will you let me show you?”

Not waiting for an answer, she pulled her Dothraki tunic over her head and slipped out of her loose trousers. I hadn’t recognized their utility in this regard. She turned around and stuffed them into one of Demon’s saddlebags. Now facing me, she placed her hand alongside my face.

“Kiss me,” she said, softly. I did, carefully, as Calye and Doreah had shown me. She pulled my tunic over my head, and then helped me out of my own trousers. She tucked them into the saddlebag as well.

This time I kissed her without waiting for her to ask, gently, and then kissed the side of her face and her neck. She arched her back, presenting her firm and perfect bosom, and I kissed each nipple as well. It felt forbidden, yet she was my wife and she enjoyed it. Was the slut Doreah right after all, that there’s no sin in mutual pleasure? I kissed her pink nipples again, then took one in my mouth. My wife gasped; had my mouth not been full of breast I would have gasped as well.

With my hands on her waist, I lowered her onto my erect manhood, then eased her up and down. It felt wrong, to take such pleasure in the marital act, yet I could not help myself. I shouted when I felt release, my seed pulsing into her with a strength I had rarely felt. She settled into my lap without pulling away, my manhood still deep inside her, and kissed me.

“It can be like this every time,” she said, and kissed me again. “Don’t be afraid of pleasure.”

Her thoughts showed those words to be Doreah’s, who had fully prepared my perfect wife for this encounter, but in the moment I did not care.

* * *

In the morning, I awoke with the dawn as usual but this time went to the small pen where my household’s horses were kept. I roused Calye and led her to the middle of the herd; I could control the horses telepathically and prevent them from trampling us and keep them between us and any watching eyes. There for the first time I took her Dothraki fashion, accessing her woman’s place from behind. I finished inside her as she leaned against her horse and cried.

* * *

“Are you better today?” I asked Mormont as we saddled up to ride to the gates of Myr.

“I’m not sure what you mean, my lord,” he said, completely sure what I meant. “I slept well. I hope you did as well.”

He envied me for my marriage to Daenerys and knew that I had sent him Doreah – I had not forbidden her to tell him that I had done so, and she had spitefully informed him of her orders. Rather than please him, my gift had humiliated him, as he had been unable to perform his manly duties until Doreah pretended to be Daenerys and he called her “khaleesi.” He now believed that he required my wife’s forgiveness.

As much as I valued Mormont’s advice and assistance, his ridiculous infatuation with my wife could only lead to disaster. The thought of Daenerys returning his feelings was truly laughable; he had to be forty years older than my khaleesi and I knew from her thoughts that his attentions discomfited her, on the rare occasions when she thought of him at all. I feared, rather, that he would do or say something so embarrassingly stupid that I would be forced to kill or exile him. I had to separate them, yet I didn’t want to lose my only white confidant.

As we had discussed the previous day, the khalasar spread out in a sickle-shaped formation to approach Myr. I rode at the center with Mormont, Pono and Orange Cat. When we neared bowshot, I held up my fist and my riders halted. Our command group sat our horses in a large patch of beaten grass; some herd had swept over it in the recent past. We waited without movement until a single soldier appeared from a sally port in the main gate. He wore a partial helmet, chainmail and armored greaves, and carried a white flag which I assumed meant a desire to parley.

“Who are you?” he shouted when he came within earshot. I held up my empty hands, and motioned for him to come closer. Hesitantly, he complied.

“You may call me Khal John,” I said when he had come within normal speaking distance. “I defeated Khal Drogo in ritual combat and now lead this khalasar. I’ve come to accept tribute from Myr, and to allow you to assist my people with food and drink.”

“I’m just a soldier,” the man said. “A watchman, really, truth be told. Please don’t kill me. I’ve only come to learn your name and your demands. The magisters will send someone to negotiate.”

“See that they do,” I said. “They have one hour. Make sure that they understand that we Dothraki are not skilled in telling time by the hour and may become restless before then. Food and water will ease our unrest.”

He nodded and turned back to the city. When he had gone, I looked to Pono.

“They’ll try to ply our men with strong drink,” I told him. “See that no one becomes drunk before I give permission. Food and water only.”

Soon we saw activity outside the gate, as the Myrish built large fires and brought out large racks so they could spit and roast the sheep and goats that also appeared. Apparently, they meant to satisfy at least part of our demands.

Eventually a small procession made its way out of the gate, with slaves bearing a litter with a man dressed in colorful silks sitting atop it. I hopped down from Demon when his slaves halted. He did not stir.

“It’s disrespectful to remain seated,” I said, keeping my voice casual. “Stand and greet me like a man. Or I can have my Dothraki remove you from that litter.”

Carefully he climbed down and stood facing me. He was short, balding and rather fat, and dressed in silks of blinding colors, mostly hues of blue and silver. At least he was white.

“I have the pleasure to be Horo Stassen,” he said. “Magister of Myr.”

“John Carter,” I said. “Khal of all you see.”

He nodded.

“You are not Dothraki.”

“No. We both know why we’re here. Shall we dispense with the verbal battle?”

“Very well,” he said. “I take it you can read and count? Former soldier of some sort?”

“You take it correctly.”

“The Dothraki usually want food and drink. As you can see, we’re already at work on those. Drogo demanded gold, 100,000 per visit. Will that suffice?”

“I’ll accept that amount of gold,” I said. “And food and fodder for my khalasar. And two hundred of your Unsullied.”

“My Unsullied?”

“Your personal guards or those of other merchants. No younger than 20 years, no older than 30, all fully healthy. You will transfer their whips to me.”

“You’ll leave the city in chaos!” he said, his voice rising until it broke on the last word. “Who’ll protect the merchants from the bravos?”

“That’s a valid point,” I allowed. “How many bravos are there in Myr?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “Two thousand?”

“Excellent,” I said. “Proclaim that all of them must join my army or die.”

“We can but try,” he said, trying to hide his relief. “Anything else?”

“My associates tell me that Myr trains crossbowmen for hire,” I said, “while hiring mercenaries in turn to defend yourselves.”

“That’s true,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t simply give them to you.”

“I wouldn’t ask for such,” I said, “as we both know they’d simply desert if not paid.”

He’d counted on them doing exactly that, and so had no problem adding them to the demanded tribute.

“So they would,” he agreed. “You wish to hire a company?”

“How many do you have?”

“Within the city?” He was unsure of the answer. “I believe there are five available companies, each of 200 men.”

“Excellent,” I repeated. “Assuming that’s correct, you may deduct 25,000 from your tribute and pay it to the companies for a year’s service under my command.”

“I would prefer 50,000.”

“We both know the price, Horo Stassen. Do not mistake my affable manner for softness. However, we also require additional weapons. You may deduct one and a half gold pieces for each acceptable horse-arakh you provide.”

“Horse-arakh? I know nothing of weapons.”

I motioned to Pono to join us and asked him to carefully show Horo Stassen his horse-arakh.

“Might I have a sample?” the Myrman asked. Pono sheathed his weapon and handed it to the magister.

“I have another,” he said.

Horo Stassen knew enough of armaments to hope he could turn a profit on this deal. As long as he delivered my weapons at the price I desired, I didn’t care how he accomplished it.

“I’ll be making further purchases in Myr,” I said. “I will require an honest agent. I would appreciate your suggestions for such a person, before we depart.”

“Of course.” He saw himself making still more coin from our association.

“Any petty criminals you wish to donate,” I added, “of sound mind and body, we’ll take off your hands as well.”

“As far as the bravos are concerned,” he said, “what if they refuse to leave?”

“Then my Dothraki will assist you in hunting them down, street by street. I would imagine the mere threat of opening your gates to my khalasar will gain a great deal of cooperation. I understand that you won’t be able to drive them all out. A serious effort is all that I ask.”

“I would ask one condition of you,” Horo said. “A simple request.”

“You may ask.”

“When you take the prisoners and the bravos,” he said, “you truly take them. We don’t want them returning to Myr without warning. Kill them if you must, but don’t send them back.”

“That’s reasonable,” I said. “They will be forbidden from returning to Myr while in my service or before five years have elapsed, whichever is longer.”

“Agreed,” the magister nodded. “One more thing. Drogo made his demands no more often than once per year.”

“That’s acceptable,” I said, “for the next year. After that, we’ll settle on a long-term agreement, trading tribute for protection, one that profits us both. As well as Myr.”

He caught my meaning.

“You are a strange man, John Carter. 

“I’m unlike anyone you’ve ever met, Horo Stassen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter considers acquiring a cat.


	24. Chapter Seventeen (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris purchases a sword.

Chapter Seventeen (Dejah Thoris)

Duskendale included several shops devoted to arms, armor and other accoutrements of war. Apparently, a large battle had been fought nearby and some of the more enterprising townspeople had scavenged the field for weaponry and other gear. I supposed they would soon restock their shelves from the wreck of _Sweet Cersei_ , and someone would peel off the gold leaf covering Cersei’s wooden breasts.

I bought a new scabbard in a large shop filled with armaments, along with sheaths for my daggers. Tansy had placed my salt-water-soaked leather battle harness in a tub of fresh water as soon as we returned to the inn from the pirate ship, and it remained soft and pliable.

“You do not wear a sword,” I said to Ser Davos as I slipped mine into its new scabbard. “Do you need one?”

“Not really,” he said. “I’m right handy with a knife or dagger but fairly useless with a full-sized blade. You might as well save your money.”

“I thought that a knight had to carry a sword.”

“It’s tradition, but not strictly enforced.”

“You will be more respected with a sword,” I said, relying on what I had pulled from his thoughts and those of the shopkeeper. “I will buy a sword for you and teach you to use it.”

The shopkeeper laughed. Annoyed, I turned to face him.

“You have seen the sunken pirate ship?” I asked. “And the bodies of its crew floating in the harbor?”

He nodded, still smiling at Ser Davos being schooled by a woman.

“I did that. Alone.”

“It’s true,” the Onion Knight said.

The shopkeeper shrugged, remembering that I had proposed buying a sword from him.

“I don’t doubt you,” he said. “Neighbor says his daughter was saved by a screaming, sword-swinging woman who killed ten pirates before her eyes. Was only amused by a knight who couldn’t use a sword. No offense meant.”

I did not recall screaming, but I often do so when the excitement of combat is upon me. I also snarl on occasion.

“I was caught in a battle frenzy,” I said, “and killed them without thinking. They had taken my sister,” I nodded to Tansy, who was looking at a large table covered with boots and shoes, “and I had a great need to get to that ship. Ser Davos arrived just in time and took me there in his little boat.”

“Well, if it keeps the pirates away, I’m damned grateful.”

“Show your good wishes by showing me a good longsword at a good price.”

“Ignore the kitchenware I keep out here,” the shopkeeper said. “I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t have to do this, princess,” Ser Davos said quietly while we awaited the shopkeeper. I watched Tansy try on some knee-high boots; she could not hear us.

“She is the most precious thing in this world to me,” I said. “And I would have lost her without you. A little gold is a small thing next to that.”

I started slightly. A life on Barsoom means an accommodation with death – we expect that those we love will die in our sight, or we in theirs. I had experienced this, many times, yet now I saw that losing Tansy would have torn my soul in ways I had not experienced since the murder of my beloved sister Kajas. In subtle ways, I was becoming more of this planet than I was of Barsoom.

The shopkeeper returned before Ser Davos could reply to my observation, bearing a polished wooden case. He opened it to reveal a very fine longsword.

“Castle-forged steel,” he said. “Next-best thing to that Valyrian blade of yours. 

I took it from the case’s velvet lining and hefted it. It had good balance; though it was slightly shorter than my sword it was heavier. Ser Davos was shorter than I so that would be a good thing. The sword had fine filigree along its blade and just one fuller, and not too many of the garish decorations with which these people loved to overload their hilts, pommels and guards. A simple steel knob covered the pommel, yet it somehow seemed elegant on this blade. A plain black scabbard chased in silver completed the set.

“A lord’s blade, it is,” the shopkeeper said. “Don’t know his name, some northerner threw it in a stream rather than give it to the Lannisters on his capture. I fished it out when we was . . . checking the bodies.”

He seemed somewhat ashamed to have robbed the dead, but it is a standard practice on my planet.

I laid it across my arm and gestured for Davos to take it. He lifted it clumsily, feeling very awkward. Yet I could see that the length was correct, and he was very strong for an older man. The sword looked like that of an experienced knight, as best as I could tell in this strange world, and that alone could save him trouble in the future.

“We will take it,” I said. “How much?”

“Twenty dragons.”

He hoped for 10, but was willing to accept five. Still annoyed by his earlier laughter, I dug five of the gold coins called “dragons” out of my small leather sack and laid them on the table next to the sword case.

“Five,” I said, “including two wooden training swords.”

“It’s worth at least twice that.”

“There are many other shops in this town,” I said. “And the blade cost you nothing. It is all profit to you.”

He sighed.

“Deal.”

Tansy had chosen a fine pair of high leather boots for herself, and a matching pair for me. My boots had not recovered from their dunking in the ocean as well as my harness. I paid for the boots, a little more than the minimum the shopkeeper would accept as I felt slightly guilty, plus a silver coin to have hobnails driven into the soles of my pair, and we returned to the inn where the innkeeper’s daughter awaited. She motioned us into the kitchen.

“Soldiers was here, looking for you,” she said. “Two women, they said. Copper-skinned beauty with a red-bladed sword and her buxom red-haired lover. Said you killed Queen Cersei.”

“I did.”

“Someone needed to,” the young woman said. “They’ll forget her soon as the next king’s on the throne. You ever get back here, you stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you.”

“That would have been me pinned to that table if it wasn’t for you.”

She threw her arms around my neck. I returned her embrace.

“We must ride,” I said.

“I know,” she nodded. “I moved all your things to the stable. Check your saddlebags and make sure I got everything.”

We mounted up and rode north; everything had indeed been packed including our gold, and she had added food including a fresh apple pie. I hoped I could return and see the ocean again. 

* * *

No patrols complicated our exit from Duskendale; the innkeeper’s daughter had certainly believed that we were sought, but apparently the local lord made no greater effort to carry out his orders to find us than he had to defend his people from the pirates.

Even so, we camped under trees on our first night out rather than risk being caught at an inn, and we shared the apple pie. On the next day, we continued our ride under very fine weather, while Ser Davos explained how he had come to serve a beggar king rather than the current ruler in King’s Landing.

“You told the innkeep,” he said, “that you killed Queen Cersei.”

“I stabbed her through the heart.”

“I hope you had good reason.”

“Half of the people in these lands have good reason,” I said. “Possibly more. As for my reason, she wished to harm my sister. I killed her first. As I would anyone who threatens harm to my sister.”

Ser Davos did not seem shocked that I had assassinated a crowned head of state, nor did he judge me for it. He accepted that I had had good reason to think Tansy in danger. I felt my judgement of the Onion Knight confirmed.

“The Lannisters,” he said, “are not like to forget nor forgive.”

“You have met the Lannister?” I asked.

“Which one?”

“Jaime of the Golden Hand.”

“No,” he said. “Not all knights are equal; I was never summoned to court. King Stannis called me to Dragonstone, his seat, when it became clear he would need to fight for his just rights.”

“As king?”

“Right,” he confirmed. “With Robert’s sons actually Lannister bastards, that made Stannis the heir to the throne.”

“But the Lannisters held the capital and claimed to rule?”

“Through Joffrey, yes.”

“Son of Jaime and Cersei?” I clarified. “Brother and sister?”

“Right.”

These people rated incest as a terrible crime and considered those born of incest abominations. We of Barsoom likewise have strictures against love-making between close family members, though the very notion of fertilizing an egg with a relative’s sperm is absurd. The genetic problems are well known, and no sane breeding official would ever allow it to occur – and without state approval, the egg will never find a working incubation chamber.

“If I understand correctly,” I continued, “Robert was not the son or even close relative of a king. He took the throne as the result of rebellion.”

“A distant relation, but yes, it was rebellion what made him king,” Davos said. “I gained my knighthood for service to Stannis during Robert’s Rebellion.”

“You were a great fighter?”

“Hardly.” He shook his head. “I delivered a shipload of food, including onions, to Stannis whilst his castle lay under siege. And thereby became the Onion Knight.”

“No less a brave act. But when Robert became king, he took the throne by . . .” I floundered for the word.

“Force?”

“No. By illegal means. Improper means.”

“Usurpation?”

“Yes.”

“The side who does it,” Davos said, “calls it ‘right of conquest’.”

“Might makes right?”

“Exactly.”

“So it is in our lands,” I said. “Yet if Robert was not king by law, then neither is his brother.”

“And neither was Joffrey.”

“Two wrongs thus making a right?”

“The land must have a king,” Davos said. “Stannis has the strongest claim, and will make the best ruler.”

“You are loyal to your king.”

“I am.”

“I hope he justifies your trust.”

“As do I, princess. As do I.”

I enjoyed speaking with Ser Davos, who knew a great deal more of this land’s politics than he let on. Tansy remained very quiet throughout our ride, which troubled me. I knew the symptoms; a traumatic event does not leave one’s mind easily. Sometimes the threat alone is enough to disorder one’s thoughts; Tansy had not been raped on the pirate ship, but she had felt the terror of its approach. Among our people, we can share our deepest terrors and find comfort with our friends and loved ones; I did not know how to express this verbally. I wished that I could open my mind to my sister, sharing her pain and thereby lessening it. Though Davos Seaworth was a good man, he remained completely oblivious to Tansy’s suffering.

“Do you wish to tell me what is wrong?” I asked my sister as we lay together late at night.

“Not yet.”

“I could not leave Ser Davos,” I said. “I would have lost you were it not for him.”

“I know. That’s no problem. He’s a good man, and I owe him my life.”

She said no more, and I finally fell into an uneasy sleep. Even sisters have friction in their relationship, I knew by experience, but I believed this to be something more than that.

Since we seemed to have escaped Duskendale unnoticed, we stopped at a small inn for our second night. It had only three guest rooms, so we took one with Ser Davos insisting on sleeping on the floor. After a nice meal of roasted fish, I took him outside for sword practice. Tansy sat and watched quietly.

I have never encountered an adult male warrior so inept with a blade. Accountants, cooks, artists of this world – I do not expect them to know how to wield a sword. But I expected more from a knight who had been to war.

I looked at him holding his wooden practice sword, reached out and slapped him on the wrist with my open hand. He dropped the blade.

“You have been in battle, yes?”

“Aye.”

“You have killed people?”

“Aye.”

“How?”

“Whatever came to hand – knife, marlin spike, deadeye.”

“As you say,” I said. “You have never fought with a sword?”

He wondered how I knew the nautical terms he had used.

“Pay attention,” I said. “These lessons will keep you alive.”

“Not really, no. I’ve carried one, but I put it aside to pick up something else more useful when it came to fighting.”

“First we will work on holding a sword as though you know how to use it.”

“I’m afraid I’m hopeless.”

“I would rather you be hopeless than dead.”

After some time, he finally held the sword with confidence. The sun had reached the horizon. Davos Seaworth remained completely ineffective with his new sword. I have never had the patience to be an effective teacher of any subject. Still, I hoped these lessons might help him survive in this violent land. 

* * *

Three days later we reached the town known as Maidenpool. Unlike Duskendale, it had seen the ravages of war. Many repairs had been made to its buildings, though, and a large garrison kept watch on the walls and the gates.

An armed guard stopped us as we approached the gate leading southward. He was alone, but I could detect three more men within the guardhouse behind the open wooden gates. No other traffic attempted to enter the town with us, and the guard hoped to alleviate his boredom by harassing us. Davos dismounted and stepped over to the side of my horse.

“I’ll take care of this, princess,” he said quietly. “Give me some money. Not too much.”

He placed his hand on my saddle as though he were steadying my horse while we spoke, and I slipped a small leather sack of silver and copper coins into his palm. The guard did not see. I turned to look at Tansy and gestured with my eyes for her to remain behind me. She nodded slightly to show her understanding.

I followed his thoughts and those of the guard; Davos told a story of how he travelled with his two adult daughters, all the while clinking the coins in the small sack, knowing the story to be meaningless. The guard understood the story to be meaningless, and after what he considered a decent interval to allow his fellows in the guardhouse to believe an inspection had been made, called out “Clear!” and closed his hand over the money.

We rode silently through the gate.

“You have done this before,” I said.

“Countless times,” Ser Davos replied. “Maybe even with that same guard.”

We dismounted and walked our horses through the streets to a stable Davos knew; the owner’s thoughts confirmed his trustworthiness but only because Davos vouched for us. He would have robbed us otherwise. With our horses stabled we walked to the harbor, with Davos leading the way. I fell in step beside my sister and took her hand.

“Are you well?” I asked her.

“No.”

“You are troubled by what happened on the ship?”

“Yes.”

“I have offended you?”

“No.”

“We will see Ser Davos aboard a ship,” I said, “and then you will tell me of this.”

She said nothing.

“Sisters share one another’s secrets. Do not close me out.”

“All right.”

Ser Davos sought a ship headed to a place called White Harbor; the third one he approached was headed there and willing to take him aboard in exchange for gold. I gave him a sack of coins, much more than the shipmaster wished.

“Princess, I cannot accept this.”

“I told you,” I said. “I would have lost everything that matters had you and your little boat not appeared at that very moment. I took the gold from bad men. Let it help a good man.”

We hugged him at the gangplank. Tansy had paid little attention to Ser Davos during our ride, though he had not noticed. Now she gripped him tightly, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

“Thank you,” she said into his ear.

“If I’d been blessed with daughters, I’d have wanted them to be just like you two, and sisters to one another. May the gods keep you safe.”

I did not remind him that there are no gods. 

* * *

“We have no space,” said the man at the door.

“We have gold.”

“Then we have space.”

He threw no one out to make room for us; he actually did have several empty tables. I showed him a gold coin, and asked for two roasted chickens, a bowl of roasted potatoes and another of mushrooms, and a pitcher of ale. And whatever Tansy planned to eat.

She only poked her chicken with her knife, and mostly stared at the table.

“What troubles you, sister?”

She said nothing, taking a small sip of her ale.

“Your silence distresses me.”

She finally looked at me and nodded.

“I was almost raped,” she said. “Killed. They took me and did what they wanted. Again.”

“Your past is over,” I said. “I will never allow anyone to harm you.”

“I know that you mean that, and I know that you love me. I just felt so helpless when those men pulled me out of bed and tied my hands. You weren’t there, and I was a thing for them to use.”

“I have been taken as well,” I said. “I know how this feels.”

Involuntarily, I rubbed my wrists. The perfection of my body in coming to this planet had taken away the layers of scar tissue that had built up there, but in my mind, I still felt where the ropes, chains or shackles had rubbed my flesh raw. Multiple times. Usually my arms had been pulled above my head to better display my breasts. I flexed my fingers, again wishing to kill those who had humiliated me.

“What happened?”

“Usually John Carter freed me,” I said, “and killed those who bound me."

"Usually? It happened more than once?"

"Yes. At times I have felt that I only exist so that John Carter will have someone to rescue. More than once, an evil person saw capturing me as a means to attract or harm John Carter, or to force my grandfather to do something. I felt like a _panthan_ piece in a Jetan game, with no will of my own or purpose other than to serve as a beautiful prize for someone else's victory."

"You resent that."

"I do,” I said, becoming somewhat angry. “I do, very much. You know what it is to be a beautiful woman. To be an object, not a person.”

“I certainly wasn’t a person on that ship.”

“Not to those men,” I said. “But you are the most important person on this world to me. On any world.”

The words shot out of my mouth before I could consider them, but for once I did not wish that I could retrieve them before they were heard.

“As you are for me,” Tansy said softly, then returned to her normal speech. “You were ranting about more than you and I.”

“Yes,” I said. “I am tired of playing the prize in John Carter’s games. My mother, Princess Heru, played the same role for a man named Gullivar Jones, from the same planet as John Carter. And though I knew better, I fell into the same pattern.”

“Your father was from John Carter’s world?”

“No,” I said. “Gullivar Jones was an arrogant buffoon, ultimately unable to rescue my mother or to satisfy her sexual needs. She rebuffed him, and married my father Mors Kajak, an accomplished warrior, poet and lawgiver.” Tansy’s people had no equivalent of judges or jurists. “My mother said he returned to his planet and was never seen again. Or perhaps she killed him. She did not wish to speak of him, and I am unsure of his fate.”

I paused, considering something that had escaped me at the time.

“She might have warned me of the sexual inadequacies of the men of Jasoom,” I said, “the planet John Carter knew as Dirt.”

“And now,” Tansy said, not diverted by my story, “I play the same role for you.”

“A beautiful woman is not a prize to be won,” I repeated. “I do not see you as such, and I do not wish that ever to happen to you again. But as I told you on the ship, I will always come for you. I know it does little to ease the fear. But it is all that I can do.

“I feel little pride in what happened on that ship, and no sense of victory, only relief that I reached you in time and shame that I was not there to kill your captors at the moment they burst into our room. I wish that you could be safe without me, but as you have explained, that is not the place of women in this world. I cannot change your world. But if I can keep it from harming my sister, then I will do so.”

“Dejah, you must have killed fifty men single-handed to free me. Maybe more."

“Fifty-nine men and one woman on the ship, ten in a smaller boat I sank, seventeen men on the shore. And however many more drowned in the wreck of the ship. I hope it was a great many. I was very angry.”

“You never hesitated,” she said. “You showed no fear at all.”

“I felt none,” I said. “I thought only of you. But my thoughts are almost always totally focused during battle. It is nothing admirable; my lack of feeling disturbs me.

“It was not that way when I was captured. I felt helpless and alone, subject to another’s will. I was captured by pirates from another race of people, who prey on those of my race – they eat us. Others of my own race took me and treated me as a lovely thing, an object to be bartered.

“I know that my feelings are not always the same as yours. Yet I am sure that I do understand this one. You are my sister and I love you with an intensity I never experienced on my own world. We are together, and our adventure continues. That is the part that matters.”

"I know you’ll always protect me,” she said. “I’m still shaken. I just feel empty."

“You did not see me fight in Harrenhal. I warned you that it would be disturbing to see me kill people. It is not the way it is told in the adventure stories.”

“It’s not that,” Tansy said. “I’ve come to terms with that. A little, anyway; I saw you kill Tom, remember, and the soldier in the woods. And the bandits. And that woman and her guard. When the bloody remains of that soldier blew through the door, I knew that you’d come for me. I felt only relief, and joy.”

“So what troubles you?”

She sighed.

“I’d learned to accept, or at least pretend to accept, a woman’s place. Then I started to believe it could be different, that no man would ever use me again. And then it happened again.”

“Tansy, I am so sorry. That was the longest I have been apart from you since we became sisters. It was my fault, not yours. I will not let it happen again.”

“You can’t just kill everyone who threatens me.”

“Watch me,” I said. “I am very good at killing people.”

She brightened slightly, and at least began to eat. While many of Tansy's feelings escaped my understanding, I did know this experience all too well. Captivity doesn't end when the hero strikes off your chains. I was enjoying my food – it really was very good – when a short woman stopped behind Tansy and said, “Sansa?”

Enough people were staring already. I told her to be seated. She straddled the bench next to Tansy.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was surprised. I thought you were my sister.”

I already knew that.

“Who are you?”

“No One.”

And that is exactly what her thoughts said. No One. She had remarkable mental discipline. I had not encountered its like on this planet. The smell of the roasted chicken had made her extremely hungry; her thoughts did reveal that she had not eaten in two days. I waved a silver coin at the innkeeper, and asked him to bring No One a chicken, and another for me plus more ale.

“Does your sister,” Tansy asked, “look like me?”

“I have no sister.”

“We won’t hurt you. Really.”

“You’re much older than my sister,” No One said. “Actually you look more like my mother.”

“And where,” Tansy asked, “is your mother?”

“She’s dead. She was murdered.”

“What was her name?”

“Not here,” No One said. “You should finish and we should leave here. Leave Maidenpool.”

And so we did. Tansy clearly wanted to take the girl with us – she was young, not just a short woman – and so I mounted her on my horse and rode one of the others without a saddle.

When we reached an empty stretch of the road, the girl started talking. Tansy and I rode on either side of her.

“The Lannisters are looking for you two,” she said. “A black-haired woman with reddish-brown skin and her red-haired lover.”

“She is my sister,” I said. “We are not lovers.”

“I’m trying to help you,” No One said. “Is it true that you killed Cersei?”

Her mind remained difficult to read, but she was not very large. I decided that I could always kill her if necessary.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I stabbed her in the heart with a spork.”

I reached over to hunt through my saddlebag and pulled out the spork I had taken from Chataya’s establishment. I held it up for her to see.

“You killed her with that?” the girl asked.

“With one like it,” I said. “I am very good at killing people.”

“So am I.”

We rode quietly for a time.

“Are you an assassin too?” the girl now asked.

“No,” I said. “I am a princess who knows how to fight. The queen wanted to harm Tansy. So I killed her.”

“Are you sorry?”

“No.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad you killed her. She was on my list.”

This was not the first time I had heard something like that. Though it bothered me that I had killed so often without remorse, at least I was spreading happiness by killing bad people.

“So what’s your name,” Tansy asked, “and who was your mother?”

The girl stared straight ahead, thinking. She reached a decision and squared her shoulders.

“I am Arya Stark, of House Stark. My mother was Catelyn Tully Stark. Now who are you?”

“I am Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium,” I said. “And this is my sister, Tansy.”

“Is that a real place?”

“I think so,” I said. “I also might be mad. Some days I am not sure.”

“I think she’s jesting when she says things like that,” Tansy added. “But she really is a princess from a land in Sothoryos.”

“But she’s not your sister.”

“She is my sister of choice,” Tansy said, “and that makes her far dearer to me than a sister of chance.”

Arya Stark thought for a few moments.

“Just so.”

* * *

After we halted for the night in a grove of trees well-hidden from the road, and brushed the horses down, we resumed our conversation around a small fire.

“What have you heard,” Arya asked us, “about me and about my family?”

“I have heard that a stable boy tried to prevent you from leaving King’s Landing,” I said. “So you stuck the beloved Chadworth with the pointy end of your little sword so deeply that it emerged from his back.”

She sat instantly upright and reached for her sword.

“Where did you hear that?”

“From the beloved Chadworth’s grandfather,” I said. “It destroyed his life. The boy’s mother killed herself in grief. I promised to kill the slayer of Chadworth for what she did.”

She edged away, and her fingers stroked the hilt of her little sword.

“Dejah . . .” Tansy warned.

“Do not worry, my sister,” I said. “I will not harm Arya Stark. I have also killed an innocent and learned to regret it.”

I looked at Arya Stark.

“You do regret it?”

“Of course I do!” she screeched. “I was scared and didn’t know what I was doing! But he should never have died because of it. I never want to kill an innocent person, not ever again. It wasn’t my place to give him the gift.”

I wanted to ask more about this gift of death, but Tansy understood my desire and re-directed Arya Stark.

“Are you the only Stark left?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Arya said. “I know my father is dead, I saw Illyn Payne take his head. And I know my mother and brother were killed at the Red Wedding.”

I hoped that she did not know about her mother’s life after her death. And who killed her permanently.

“I’ve heard that two of my brothers, my younger brothers, were killed by the Iron Born,” she went on, “and that my sister disappeared. The only one left would be my brother who’s at The Wall, and sailors in Maidenpool said he’s been murdered, too. I don’t believe that. I want to go find him.”

I started to ask about this Wall, but Tansy put her hand on my arm to quiet me.

“I know about your brother Robb, the Young Wolf,” she said. “Which brother was at the Wall?”

She told me silently that she already knew, and was testing the girl.

“Jon,” Arya said. “Jon Snow.”

“Snow is a bastard’s name.”

“So what?” Arya asked, growing belligerent. “He’s my brother and that’s all that matters. I don’t care if he’s a bastard. That’s a stupid idea anyway. I hate it. No one should be treated that way because of what their parents did or didn’t do! It wasn’t his fault!”

Arya was crying now, though I suspected she did so to gain sympathy. Tansy took hold of her hand. Arya leaned away but did not pull back her hand.

“You love your brother Jon,” Tansy said.

“Of course I do!” Arya answered. “My mother should never have treated him that way. It was hurtful and wrong.”

“I have to tell you something, Arya,” Tansy said. “It’s not an accident that you thought I looked like your sister and your mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father was Hoster Tully.”

“Hoster Tully had two daughters,” Arya said, “and they’re both dead.”

“Two true-born daughters, yes.”

“You’re my grandfather’s bastard?”

“Yes,” Tansy said. “I was sent away because your mother wanted no bastards around her.”

“I know,” Arya said. “I mean, I know how my mother treated my brother Jon. So you and I are family?”

“I don’t want to be a Tully,” Tansy said, “or to play the game of thrones. Dejah is my only family. But I hope you and I can be friends.”

“Me, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Tansy finds old feelings awakening.
> 
> Note 1: Kajas appears in Dynamite Comics' "Gardens of Mars" as the busty red-haired science grad student who assists Dejah Thoris.
> 
> Note 2: Gullivar Jones is the hero of Edwin Lester Arnold's 1905 novel of the same name. An unemployed Union officer, he flies to Mars on a magic carpet but is fairly inept at the whole romantic hero thing. Burroughs draws heavily on Arnold's story for his own works, with John Carter the mirror image of Gullivar Jones.


	25. Chapter Eighteen (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris confesses.

Chapter Eighteen (Dejah Thoris)

On the next night we once again picked our way deep into a small forest, in case our appearance in Maidenpool had been noted. Arya slept cuddled next to Tansy, making sure to remain on the opposite side of my sister from me. I was very tired and for once I was not the first to awake the next morning, and found that my sister and Arya had already made a small fire. I ate some cheese and bread we had taken from the tavern and felt somewhat better for it.

We followed the road northward, and I continued to ride in the style Tansy called “bareback,” as I had from Duskendale to Maidenpool since Ser Davos could not ride without a saddle. Tansy now brightened considerably; she made eye contact again, her shoulders no longer slumped forward to hide her breasts, and she smiled. I knew she would never forget the terror of her brief captivity – I knew this first-hand – but she took joy in living again.

I did not wish to intrude on her growing relationship with her niece, and in truth had little to say to a girl of this planet without giving away my strange origin. We are only “girls” for a very brief span on Barsoom, and those few years are given over to education and training for the adult responsibilities which come to us by our fifth year after hatching. As a princess I had been allowed greater freedom in my hatchling years and had spent more time playing in the gardens and with pets than the children of the working classes would have been allowed.

As with Tansy, Arya’s thoughts did not intrude upon mine and I enjoyed the relative quiet. Her defenses were more formidable than my sister’s, despite her youth, but I remained confident that I could penetrate them if I found it necessary. She clearly found a mother figure in Tansy, appearing just when she desperately needed one, and I did not believe her a threat to my sister. She seemed more and more to be exactly what she appeared: a lost and lonely girl, who had been taught to murder people.

I usually rode behind them, lost in my own thoughts. Seeing Tansy’s spirits revive had taken a great burden from my mind. I did not understand Arya, or children in general. Childhood on Barsoom is considered mostly an annoyance; I now began to see that it is a great gift, to be treasured and protected. I could tell that Tansy mourned Arya’s early loss of innocence, so much like her own.

Parents and children have a bond on Barsoom, but I began to understand that this connection was much more important here. My own mother Princess Heru loved me very much, as did my father, Mors Kajak. But I knew from an early age that this was most unusual and had much to do with my role as Princess of Helium. While still in the egg I had been selected for my high intelligence, and they groomed me for a future leadership position in the family. That made it imperative to strengthen the bonds between us. On this planet they break family bonds for reasons of state; on Barsoom, we create them for that same purpose.

John Carter considered himself a “gentleman of Virginia” and as such left many questions unasked. Knowing that the answers would trouble him, I never volunteered them. John Carter’s mind could not be read, by me or by anyone else, but I had married him and to know some things I did not need telepathy. I know that John Carter believed that he loved me, at least he had in our first years of marriage, but I also knew that he loved an idealized version of me. I am under no illusions that I saw him through clear eyes, either.

John Carter was my fifth husband. All four previous marriages were contracted for reasons of state. I suppose I did grow to love two of my husbands, but both died in battle. The others also died in battle, but I did not mind those losses so much.

Our son Carthoris and daughter Tara were the products of years of experiments and testing, to see if the seed of Jasoom could quicken an egg of Barsoom. I was proud of them both, as they were selected for the ruling class. But both John Carter and I had a distant relationship with our children, even by the standards of Barsoomian royalty. I was always aware that they existed because my grandfather believed, incorrectly as it turned out, that this would help bind John Carter to the service of Helium. I had had other sons and daughters become part of the royal family. All had died, through accidents, battle or murder.

Our culture asks little of a child’s parents; in our cities professional caretakers undertook the nurturing and teaching that I knew the adults of this planet provided for their offspring. Yet even by our lax standards, I had never been a very good mother. My interests lay elsewhere. I knew that John Carter did not understand even the basic underpinnings of the science that allowed our genes to be melded and I suspected that he did not believe Carthoris and Tara to truly be his children. He certainly treated them accordingly, but I was in no position to cast blame.

I never knew most of my offspring. Our biology allows us to quickly expand our population, and when war looms all females are expected to contribute eggs, even a princess. They are quickened with sperm assigned by our Breeding Councils, who in peacetime regulate the population – with lifespans of a thousand years or more, we could easily overpopulate our cities without some form of control. These eggs are force-incubated to produce warriors, who enter training at a much earlier age than those who are hatched in the usual way. The identity of these children, and their parents, is no secret. But I had never sought them out, nor had any of them ever attempted to contact me.

Once again, things were different here. I had given little thought to Carthoris or Tara since my arrival. This was not the same mother-child bond as that I was witnessing arise between Tansy and Arya. 

* * *

I awoke on the third morning sore from the hard ground, which usually did not bother me. For the first time since my arrival I did not feel energetic enough to undertake my morning exercises. The last of our food had run out the previous day, and so I took the hunting javelin I had carried since Harrenhal and walked into the forest to seek an edible animal. I soon found an abandoned farm, and detected two deer eating the remnants of vegetables in the overgrown garden. I crept to the top of the farmhouse, but when I threw my javelin I missed both deer and they bounded into the trees. Knowing the ways of farmers on all planets, I pulled up the floorboards of the small house and found a sack of potatoes; a few had a fungus-like growth on them so I threw those away and carried the rest back to my sister and her niece.

I napped while the potatoes roasted in the fire Arya had built, and after eating several I became less sore and had a little more energy.

“Why do you recite a list of names,” I asked her, “before you sleep?”

“They’re people who hurt my family, people I’m going to kill. You killed Cersei, so she’s off the list now.”

“Is it usual for children of these lands to murder those who anger them?”

“Probably not,” Arya admitted. “But I’m not like other girls.”

Tansy approached with a bucket of water and Arya placed one finger before her lips, signaling for silence. As I did not wish to upset my sister still more, knowing her already unhappy with me, I followed Arya’s request as we rode northward. I tried to stay close and pay attention as Arya told of her childhood home and her departure from Westeros.

She spoke quickly and, as I could not probe her mind without possibly alerting her to my abilities, I had a difficult time following her story. Apparently, her father had been a close friend of the king, and had been called to King’s Landing to serve as First Minister – he was the same First Minister who had originally sent out the men who became the Brotherhood. He left his castle in the North with his daughters, leaving behind his wife and his sons. This did not seem very wise to me, but I knew that I had missed some of the details of the story.

Arya had not liked King’s Landing, spending her time running about in the streets when not practicing at swords with the teacher her father hired for her. She was away from the palace when the Lannisters moved against her father, and escaped them. She saw her father executed, then went North with recruits for a special police force known as the Night’s Watch.

Lannister soldiers killed many of the recruits, trying to find a bastard of King Robert. She helped hide the boy, who had become her friend. I thought about my friend Gendry, and pondered how the old king must have fathered many bastards. Then I recalled Tansy’s fond memories of King Robert, and understood that it would not have been very difficult for him to do so. I hoped that Arya’s bastard friend had escaped. Arya apparently had been captured by the Brotherhood at one point, and later wandered across the River Lands with a warrior known as the Hound. She eventually left him when he became injured, and took ship for the Eastern Continent.

She missed her family home, Winterfell. She had heard rumors that it had been attacked and burned, and many of its people killed. That only made her more eager to return, seek out survivors, and re-establish Stark rule there if indeed none of her family lived.

“Would it be possible,” she asked Tansy, “for you to come to Winterfell?”

“There’s war in the north,” Tansy said. “We were headed there anyway so Dejah could search for her husband, John Carter.”

“No, not pass through,” Arya said. “Stay there. If I’m the last Stark, I’d like to have family with me. You could be a lady, Tansy, and I would protect you.”

“You’re very sweet, Arya. But that cannot be.”

“Why not?” the girl asked. “I don’t care about bastard birth. My brother Robb was King in the North, and if I’m the last Stark that makes me Queen in the North. And that means I can make you Lady Tully.”

“Arya. It can’t happen.”

“Why not?”

Tansy looked back at me. I could offer no guidance.

“What?”

“I’ve been a whore, Arya. I spent most of my life, until I met Dejah, trading my body for money. I can never be Lady Tully.”

“You owned the Peach!” Arya blurted out. “I spent the night there. I remember you now. You were. . .”

Her voice tailed off as she realized the effect of her words. Tansy was stricken. I thought to aid my sister and closed up to Arya’s opposite side.

“I have been a whore as well,” I said.

“Once doesn’t count,” Tansy said, “and you killed the client before she paid you.”

“She?” Arya looked shocked.

“Queen Cersei,” I explained.

“The queen paid you for sex?” Arya asked. “And you killed her?”

“As Tansy said, I killed her before she paid us.”

“Us?” Arya could barely breathe. “ _Both_ of you had sex with Cersei? _Together_?”

“Dejah will tell you the rest when you’re older,” Tansy said. “Won’t you, Dejah?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “When you are older.”

“Tansy,” Arya said, “Dejah wasn’t born as your sister but you made her your sister because you chose her and you love her. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Tansy agreed, “it is.”

“So I love you and I choose you to be my aunt. And that’s the part that matters.”

Tansy looked away. I knew that tears ran down her face. 

* * *

We passed through devastated farmlands and burned-out villages. I continued to have poor results from hunting, but we still had plenty of money. My skin tone and red eyes made me far too easy to recognize, so Tansy and Arya would approach what few intact farmhouses we encountered to attempt to buy food, after I scanned them to be sure no dangers awaited within. They were not always successful. I found myself growing hungrier with each day that passed.

After crossing the sea to the Eastern Continent, Arya had fallen in with a training school for a cult of assassins known as the Faceless Men. We have these on Barsoom as well. They recruit the lost and forgotten, teaching them how to blend into any social setting. And then kill. John Carter had once infiltrated such a cult, and the temple of death Arya described to Tansy sounded very familiar: Yet another similarity between the ways of the Eastern Continent and those of Barsoom.

Even I could see that Arya had lost much of her childhood. Tansy wanted so desperately to give it back to her. I wondered if she realized how much of her self she’d recovered in caring for Arya.

“Was there a boy you liked?” Tansy asked her,

“That was my sister’s game,” Arya said. “I never had time for boys.”

“None at all?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“It’s a rule,” Tansy said, smiling. “When women are alone, they’re only allowed to talk about men.”

“That’s not a real rule.”

Arya prattled on instead about her pet, apparently a very large beast called a dire wolf. Now this sounded like a proper predator that would be at home on Barsoom. Arya’s dire wolf was loose somewhere in these forests, and she hoped it would come to her.

“I drove her away,” she said. “I didn’t want Cersei to have her killed.”

“Why would the queen,” Tansy asked, “want to kill your pet?”

“She protected me from her horrid son Joffrey, and scratched him. The queen wanted her dead so I drove her off. Cersei made my father kill my sister’s dire wolf instead.”

I felt better about having killed Cersei, and worse about having helped her receive orgasm.

Tansy worked hard to get Arya to speak of things other than fighting and killing, but even seemingly benign topics like favorite pets somehow twisted back to talk of murder and death. The people here think very differently than we do, but even I could see how damaged this girl had been by the deaths she had witnessed, the deaths she had dealt, and her training to become a dealer of death. 

* * *

I waited outside the small village while Tansy and Arya haggled for food. Five rudely-built buildings clustered around a muddy open area. Their livestock had long been taken by marauding armies, but like farmers on all planets, these people had learned to hide some of their food and animals. We were all tired from a long ride, including the horses. When armed men approached on horseback, I rode into the village common and told my sister and her niece to hurry.

“Wait,” Arya said. “We’re almost done.”

The farm woman continued to argue about the price of her pair of chickens.

“Here,” I said, tossing the woman a silver piece. I knew this was far more than the chickens were worth. She considered me stupid, but smiled to my face. She had but one tooth.

“Let us be gone,” I said.

The chickens still lived; they were tied by their feet. Arya took the chickens from the woman and one slipped out of its bindings. It began to race around the farmyard while Arya chased it.

“Leave it,” I said. “We have to go now.”

We rode out of the village as the armored men rode in. They saw us and pursued. We pounded down the road and turned onto a pathway into a thick forest. I sent our fourth horse, the one without a rider, ahead to pick out the trail. I could see through its eyes. Even so, the armored riders gained on us. Our horses were simply too tired, and theirs evidently were not. At a fork in the trail, I rolled off my mare’s back and drew my sword in the same motion.

“Go,” I said. “Go now. I will fight them.”

“No!” Arya shouted. “I’ll fight with you.”

“Tansy,” I said. “Take her and go.”

They rode up the left fork, which led up a hill. The two of them stopped at its top and Arya struggled to return but Tansy clasped her reins firmly and I told the horse to obey Tansy rather than his rider. Then the men were upon me and I turned my attention to them.

The dirt trail was wide at this point. One of the riders, wearing elaborately-decorated armor, moved in front of the others and drew his sword. He planned to ride me down.

“Wait!” one of his fellows shouted. “It’s a woman. We can have some fun.”

“I’m newly married,” the rider laughed, “With two new serving maids to boot! I’m getting plenty of cunt at home.”

He dug his spurs into his horse’s sides. I tried to contact the horse, but it was caught in a battle frenzy. I gave it a stern command to stop, focusing my thoughts. It stopped, spilling its rider. He got up, embarrassed, and collected his sword. His helmet had fallen off and he left it on the ground. His men dismounted and ran to join him, swords drawn.

I drew my own sword. There were four additional warriors, spread in a wide semi-circle, two on either side of the leader. He seemed very young and unsure what to do next.

“Back away,” he told his men, “and let me take her.”

“Lord Dickon,” the oldest man said, “your father ordered us to keep you from danger.”

“She’s no danger.”

I twirled my sword slowly, watching all of them. This Dickon was very confident. He had never killed an enemy in battle, his thoughts revealed, and he longed to please his father by doing so. He recognized me as the “crazed red bitch” said to have killed Cersei. Bringing in the corpse of such a notorious assassin slung across his saddle would finally bring the approval of his lord father.

He charged. I stepped to the side, clear of his flailing blade, and buried my sword in the top of his skull as he passed. It sank in deeply, and I kicked his rapidly-dying body aside to free the blade.

His comrades came in at once. All wore that odd ringed armor although none wore a helmet; all but one carried a sword but only two had a shield. The man on the far right had an axe instead of a sword. I picked out the most confident, the man at the left center of the four, knocking his blade aside and slashing his throat open on the backswing. He fell to his knees, spouting blood. The man to the center-right closed, and I met his strike and spun to my left to avoid the warrior on the far right. I saw an opening under the arm of the second fighter and stabbed my sword in deeply. He gasped, and I pulled my blade free.

As the second man died, I turned back to the warrior on my left. He came with his blade high and I slashed him across the belly, the splendid steel of my sword cutting through the rings of his armor as though they were cloth. He dropped his sword as his digestive organs spilled out of the now-gaping cut, but I was already turning to face the last man. He backed away slowly.

“You do not have to die here,” I told him. “Mount your horse and ride away.”

“Lord Tarly will find me and hang me. I let his only son die. He won’t forgive that.”

“You know that I will kill you.”

“I know,” he said. “Make it quick.”

He charged, staking his life on a powerful swing of his axe that he hoped I could not block. I ducked under his weapon, dropped to one knee and ran him through.

All five were down, four of them dead. The man with the horrible belly wound had fallen to his knees, trying to push his organs back into his abdomen. I ended his pain with a stab to the heart.

“Dejah! You’re incredible!”

Arya clung to me like a sorak, the small creatures of Barsoom that some keep as pets.

“You killed five armed and armored men in less than two minutes. How did you do that? Will you teach me?”

Tansy had joined us on horseback, standing behind the smiling Arya. She shook her head.

“Help me collect their money, food and swords,” I said. “The people in that village know that these men rode after us, and we do not need to leave any more signposts for the Lannister’s men. We will hide the bodies among the trees. Then we must be on our way.”

I cleaned my sword on a lacy white cloth I found inside the young lord’s bejeweled breastplate, and tucked the cloth in the back of my skirt. I then took the folding digging tool, called a shovel, from my horse’s saddle and walked into the forest a short distance, carrying the fallen soldier’s axe as well to deal with tree roots. I came to an open area without too many trees and began digging.

It took me longer than I had estimated, and left me tired. But I had a deep pit dug, and we tossed all of the bodies into it along with their saddles and other identifying items that we did not take for ourselves. We covered them with dirt, and then covered the area with dead leaves and branches. I told their horses to run far away, in different directions. Hopefully, Dickon Tarly and his men had disappeared forever. 

* * *

Arya could not stop talking about the fight in the woods. She had a new hero, and I was not comfortable in this role. I tried to divert her.

“The soldiers called their leader Dickon, the son of Lord Tarly,” I said. “What do you know about him?”

“His father is, well, was, Lord Randyll Tarly. A great battle commander, they say. His lord supports the Lannisters, at least the last I heard. They change sides all the time.”

“The game of thrones.”

“The game of thrones,” she agreed. “Dickon was his heir, and had just married the daughter of Lord Mooton, who rules Maidenpool. All I heard called him a spoiled brat, but his father’s favorite. His father sent his older brother to the Wall to clear the way for him to inherit their lands.”

“You mentioned this Wall before.”

“How can you know so much and so little, all at the same time?”

“I am a princess. Humor me.”

“In the very north of the North,” she said, “is a huge Wall built of ice, maybe built with magic. The Night’s Watch patrols the Wall and keeps the wildlings on the other side.”

“Wildlings?”

“People who live in the frozen forest on the other side of the Wall, with no rules or order. The old tales say there are far worse things up there too: giant ice spiders, ice dragons, and the walking dead.”

“And the Night’s Watch fights them?”

“Sometimes they fight the wildlings,” Ayra said. “No one’s seen a White Walker for thousands of years. The tales say they’ll return with the long winter.”

I had come across this notion before that their civilization had lasted for thousands of years; I did not think this likely. They claimed ages for stone buildings that simply could not have stood in this weather for that long – assuming, of course, that their years matched those of Jasoom - and the claim also posited a remarkably stagnant civilization. I could craft a fine paper out of this.

“I escaped King’s Landing with some recruits for the Night’s Watch,” Arya continued. “Bastards, orphans, rapers and such. All of the kingdoms send their unwanted to the Wall.”

“So a father sending his own son is a cruel act?”

“Probably.”

She likely believed that I asked about Dickon Tarly's brother, but my regard for this Stark family remained low following this news. How could Lord Stark have sent his son to this Wall, bastard or not? Was it just to please his awful harridan wife, as she had hounded her father into exiling Tansy years before?

John Carter told me once that those who talk the most about honor usually have the least. If he had still been alive, I might not have killed Eddard Stark, but I would not have liked him. 

* * *

Around the middle of our fourth day on the road we reached a town known as Saltpans, where people dried sea water to harvest its salt. Or at least they had at some point in the past; when we arrived, it appeared that most of them were dead. A few buildings remained intact, but most had been burned. The small fortress appeared untouched, and a lookout peered nervously over the walls at us as we approached.

“No closer!” he yelled when we were still some distance away. “I have a crossbow and I’m not afraid to use it.”

He was terrified of having to use it, for he had no idea how to wind it.

I rode up to the gate anyway, my sister and Arya behind me.

“You fear two women and a girl,” I said. “Small wonder you let this town burn while you hid behind your walls.”

“Go away.”

The handful of people outside the little fortress hid in the ruins of their homes.

“Let us leave,” I said, softly so that only Tansy and Arya heard. “These people have lost everything and have nothing for us.”

As we turned, I called up to the watcher on the wall.

“You are an evil and cowardly little man,” I said. “Should I hear of you abandoning your people again, I will return and kill all of you and your knight as well.”

“Go to hell.”

I considered smashing the gate of the little fortress, or setting it on fire. The attitude of the small garrison angered me. But I did not have time to set right all the wrongs of this place, nor was it my place to do so. We rode away from Saltpans; I fervently hoped that something terrible would happen to its garrison. 

* * *

Three days after we left Saltpans, we reached the inn Arya identified as that once owned by Jeyne and Willow and their family. It apparently still operated, for I could detect two people within and smoke rose from its brick chimney.

“We stopped here on the way from Winterfell to King’s Landing,” Arya explained. “Later I came here when I travelled with the Hound, and I killed Polliver here and took back Needle.”

As always, when Arya spoke, someone died. I could not tell if she spoke the truth, nor did the names mean anything to me. As we walked through the door into the common room I began to ask, but a very fat young man shouted out before I could speak.

“Arry!” he cried. “Is it you?”

“Yes, Hot Pie,” she said, smiling. “I’m back.”

“But you’re already here!”

“What does that mean?”

“Look! You’re right over there!”

A young woman sitting alone at one of the tables turned to us and stood. She resembled Arya, but with a somewhat rounder face and blue rather than gray eyes.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Arya of House Stark. Who are you?”

“Arya of House Stark,” our Arya said, drawing her little sword. “I know who you are.”

The new Arya pulled out a dagger almost as long as Arya’s sword.

“Not in here, please,” begged Hot Pie. They ignored him as Arya leapt across the tables to attack Arya. No other customers occupied the room, and Hot Pie ran through an open door. Both girls sparred with deadly intent, but neither could gain an advantage.

“You have to stop them,” Tansy said. “Please do something.”

I could think of nothing to gain their attention. I finally tilted one of the long, heavy tables onto its side and threw it against a wall, causing a loud crashing noise.

The girls broke apart and faced us. Neither had been seriously injured beyond a few shallow scrapes. I pushed Tansy behind me.

“Do not trust either of them,” I told her, “no matter what they say.”

“I know my own blood.”

“You do not,” I said. “And you are in great danger.”

She tried to struggle past me, but I wrapped my left arm around her waist and held her tightly to my side.

“One of them is an assassin here to kill the other,” I said. “And possibly you as well.”

“Don’t keep me from . . . her.”

“She is not your daughter,” I did not need to read her thoughts to know the word she had swallowed unspoken. “I cannot say that she is even Arya Stark.”

The girls continued to eye one another, but watched me as well. The old Arya knew me to be dangerous; the other likely mimicked her attitude.

“She attacked me,” said the new Arya. “You saw it. What lies has she told you?”

“Lying bitch,” answered the old Arya. “I thought I’d killed you in Braavos.”

“You _know_ her?” Tansy asked in a high-pitched, terrified voice.

“She’s one of the Faceless Men,” the first Arya said. “I knew they’d want me dead for leaving them. I should never have joined up with you. She’ll try to kill you, too.”

“I don’t know who you are, but that’s not Arya Stark,” said the other. “She’s using you.”

“She’ll kill Tansy, Dejah,” the old Arya said. “Kill us both if you have to but don’t let her hurt your sister.”

I had seen this dilemma dramatized in very bad video plays, but with physically identical characters who could screen their thoughts. So could these two, but not as well as a native of Barsoom. The girl on the left gasped and raised her hand to her temple as I broke through into her mind. She feared that I had long wished her dead and now had an excuse to kill her. That proved nothing. The one on the right simply stared back at me as I tore through her defenses. She did not care if I killed her, as long as I killed them both.

“You would give your life to kill Arya Stark?” I asked.

“What?” she asked, with a surprised look. “I am Arya Stark.”

“Who is Tansy to you?”

“I have no idea,” the girl said. “She looks like my mother and my sister.”

“That is correct,” I said, and turned to the other girl. “You have failed.”

“I’m glad to die as long as she dies as well. Protect Tansy. Don’t let this bitch live.”

I kept my left arm tightly wrapped around Tansy and reached for my dagger with my right hand. The Arya on the left stiffened, her eyes wide, but said nothing. I threw the dagger backhanded into the chest of the Arya on the right as I pulled it out of its sheath. She stared at it for a moment, and then crumpled silently to the floor. Her thoughts showed regret at her failure; she was not Arya Stark. She would indeed have murdered Tansy and me as well, along with Hot Pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris is offered cherry pie.


	26. Chapter Nineteen (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tansy suffers the unthinkable.

Chapter Nineteen (Dejah Thoris)

The real Arya stood still and closed her eyes.

“Kill me too,” she said. “You have to be sure.”

“There is no need for excessive drama,” I said as moved to I retrieve my dagger from the corpse of the other Arya. “My sister would be even angrier with me, were I to kill her niece for no reason.”

The killer-girl had changed to become a grown woman with medium-length black hair, a snub nose and, though slender and short like Arya, a woman’s body with light brown skin, small rounded breasts and narrow hips. The dagger had struck her very high in the chest and she still lived. I knelt by her so that my sister and Arya could not see that I removed the blade, shoved it into her heart and then twisted it. Her last, deeply disturbing thoughts thanked me for bringing her the gift of death.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“They called her the Waif,” Arya said, her voice muffled against Tansy’s breasts as my sister wrapped her in her arms. “I never knew her true name. I thought I knew her true face, but it looks like I didn’t. She trained at the House of Black and White with me, to be a Faceless Man.”

“You are sure,” I asked, “that this is the same person?”

“The voice was the same,” Arya said. “And the hatred.”

“She could change her entire body?”

“Not totally,” Arya said, “you can’t gain or lose weight or height. But as long as the new form is close to the same size, yes.”

“You can do this as well?”

“No,” she said. “I wasn’t as advanced. I can wear another face, one of skin, but I can’t change my own face or my body.”

“And do they train you in tactics as well?”

“Tactics?”

“How to plan an attack.”

“Not really,” Arya said. “You’re supposed to figure it out yourself, with the aid of the Many-Faced God.”

“This Waif drew attention to herself,” I said. “That is not the wisest approach.”

“It’s complicated,” Arya said. “She was also sending a message.”

“If you were dead, the message would not matter.”

“It doesn’t always make sense.”

“You could have killed Arya,” Tansy interrupted, her voice on the edge of breaking. She continued to hold the girl tightly and seemed highly emotional.

“Yes,” I said, choosing to tell her the truth. I strongly believed that I had made the right choice, but I had not been completely sure.

“You would have killed my niece,” she repeated, “to be sure you killed the Waif.”

“Yes,” I repeated. “This Waif would have killed you, had I failed to kill her.”

“And that’s the only part you cared about.”

She spoke the truth; I had not wished to kill Arya Stark but I would have gladly killed them both to protect Tansy’s life.

“I will never apologize for protecting my sister,” I said. “Never.”

I had become irritated.

“Tansy, please calm down,” Arya said. “I’m unhurt, and it’s because of Dejah.”

“Wait here,” I said, ready to be separated from both of them. “I will dispose of this Waif.”

Arya took Tansy’s arm and led her to a table. I scanned to see if anyone watched, and finding no one observing, took the Waif’s corpse by the collar of its tunic and dragged it outside, where I first smelled and then saw a large pen filled with pigs that lay well behind the inn among some trees. I stripped her of her clothing and tossed her lifeless body into the pen; the pigs immediately began to feed. The Waif had no belongings on her person other than the dagger, which I threw deep among the trees. I entered the inn through the kitchen door, knowing that Hot Pie still hid in the innkeeper’s quarters. I stuffed the Waif’s clothing into the large stove where a fire burned, and went to join my sister and Arya in the common room.

In her emotional state I could read Arya’s thoughts more easily than usual and I knew that she had been trying to calm Tansy’s anger toward me, and had partially succeeded. A spread of food had been laid on the table and I sat down to eat; this Hot Pie person produced excellent bread and for once I was glad to see no bacon. Eventually he came out of hiding and sat beside me, facing my sister and Arya.

“She looked just like you,” he said without preamble. “She said she was you. I didn’t know.”

Arya looked at me while Hot Pie had his eyes on the table, and held one finger alongside her nose. I understood its meaning from her thoughts, though she was recovering her mental discipline, and nodded.

“She was a Faceless Man,” Arya said. “She probably thought I was dead and wanted to take my place at Winterfell. So she found someone who looked like me and took her place.”

I wondered how Hot Pie, whose thoughts showed him to be far less stupid than he pretended, could have mistaken this stranger for his dear friend. Only later did I realize that this society had no photographs and very few mirrors. Physical appearance simply held less importance to them. The girl said she was Arya Stark and had most of the proper features, and Hot Pie did not question her claim any further. She would have fooled most people, simply through a loose resemblance and confident claim of identity.

“She’d stayed here for days,” the baker answered Arya. “She was waiting for someone. I guess she was waiting for you.”

“What did she say?”

“She knew stuff about you,” Hot Pie said, “enough to seem like you. I thought she was you.”

I had finished my food; I remained hungry.

“Could I have more, please?” I asked.

“Really?” the baker seemed surprised. “More? I, um, have to roast more chickens. I have two killed and plucked. But I have more bread ready now.”

“Please roast the chickens,” I said. “I would like more of your bread. It is very good.”

He returned to the kitchen. Tansy continued to glare at me.

“Stop it,” Arya snapped at her. “Dejah fought for us, for you and me, against five trained soldiers. She doesn’t have to prove anything. The Waif was better than me. I knew she would come after me and I never warned you. She would have killed us both.

“Dejah is your sister and you need to remember that. Always. Never forget your sister.”

She began to cry. I could tell that she did so for effect, but I did not expose her.

“I was horrid to my sister,” Arya said. “And now she’s gone. Don’t be horrid to yours.”

“I’m sorry,” Tansy finally spoke. “I’ve never been more frightened than I was for you.”

“We’re still together,” Arya said, “because of Dejah.”

“I’m sorry,” Tansy said to me in a flat voice. “You did what you thought was best.”

I noticed that she did not agree that I had done the right thing by choosing one Arya and killing her, but I nodded and thanked her as Hot Pie returned with hot bread.

“Thank you,” I told him, eager to change the subject. “How is the Brotherhood?”

“I don’t know no Brotherhood.”

He certainly did, and had visited their caves two days prior, bearing fresh bread.

“My sister and I lived with them,” I said. “I fought for them.”

“You!” he said, now impressed. “You’re the princess?”

“I am.”

“They said you was beautiful,” Hot Pie said. “And they said you fought like a demon from the seventh hell.”

I noticed Tansy’s fingers shaking where she spread them on the table, while her other hand stroked Arya’s hair.

“It’s true, then?” he continued. “You killed Strong Boar?”

“I defeated the Mighty Pig,” I said, “but I left him alive. He survived and we met him in King’s Landing.”

“You’re a hero in these parts,” Hot Pie said. “I wish I could do something special for you.”

“Do you bake pies as well?”

“It’s what I do best.”

“I adore pie.”

He thought for a moment.

“Please stay the night,” he said. “I’ll have cherry pie by tonight.”

Tansy remained withdrawn, so I decided we could stay the night. I remained tired and looked forward to sleeping in a real bed

I did not understand my sister’s anger. I had tried to stay out of the way as best as I could, so that she could enjoy her time with Arya, and she had seemed to do so. I had made the right choice by killing this Waif person; that I did not doubt. She was murderously intense and I did not doubt that she would have killed Tansy once she knew her as a relative of Arya, and the hapless Hot Pie simply for having been Arya’s friend. She had already recognized Tansy as fitting the description of Arya’s mother and sister.

Again, I grew frustrated. I would not have these problems on Barsoom, where I could simply open my mind to my sister and she would understand my feelings and my good intentions. And I would know her frustrations, and could attempt to correct my behavior if I had caused offense.

The cherry pie was indeed wonderful, and I kissed Hot Pie on his cheek, turning his skin as red as mine. That night Arya lay between Tansy and me on our room’s wide, soft bed. Tansy kept her arm around Arya and I felt very lonely on my side.

* * *

We set out the next morning, leaving Hot Pie alone in the inn. I wondered how he managed to stay alive, given his lack of awareness regarding anything beyond baked goods, but reasoned that the Brotherhood must be keeping watch over him. He made the most wonderful pies, but certainly did not need to be on his own without supervision. That thought also applied to much of the Brotherhood, but I hoped Ned Dayne had improved things since our departure. I wondered if we should visit them, but had the impression that Arya would be distressed to return to the scene of her captivity.

Tansy remained unhappy with me, in turn upsetting Arya who made an effort to include me in their conversations. Two days after I had fed the Waif’s remains to the hungry pigs, Arya again asked if I would teach her some sword exercises. This time, I agreed. Tansy disapproved and scowled at both of us, but said nothing.

I still had the wooden practice swords I had used with Ser Davos, but first I made Arya show me her quickness. She had a great deal of natural ability that had been honed with additional training. I tossed a wooden sword to her and she assumed a position very similar to the initial stance of Helium. I remembered that the Mighty Pig had recognized and named it.

“You have been taught the water dance,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

She performed very formal evolutions, apparently believing that doing so rapidly would confuse an opponent. Knowing the pattern, I waited for her to strike, stepped aside and plucked the sword out of her hand.

“How did you do that?”

“It is a pattern. Even the water dance is itself a pattern.”

“Of course it is,” she said, sounding annoyed. “That’s why they call it the water dance.”

“Look,” I said. “See what is really there. And you will see the pattern.”

“That’s the same thing Syrio said.”

Syrio must have been her instructor, but I could not read her thoughts without concentration, and I seemed to have a hard time mustering that focus.

“Then you should have listened,” I said. “Heard what he really said. You are not the only one looking, not the only one seeing. Others can see patterns, and they will use that knowledge to kill you.”

I sparred with her a short while. Arya attempted to add flying leaps and cartwheels to the water dance, bouncing off the ground and hopping on one foot.

“What is this?” I asked. “Part of the water dance?”

“It’s a style from Yi-Ti,” she said. “Fighters called ninjas use it.”

“You were taught this?”

“I developed it myself,” she said, extremely proud of her innovations.

“You have seen an actual ninja?”

“I saw one in a mummer’s show,” she said. “In Braavos.”

I had no answer for this. Her supposed fighting style was childish and ridiculous, better suited to the play of hatchlings than the battlefield. I did not know that I had the patience to teach her, but that did not matter as I found myself becoming winded.

“That is enough for now. Let us ride.”

I had no reason to doubt that Arya had attended a school for assassins. Such schools exist on Barsoom, but they do not teach swordsmanship or acrobatics - those are not necessary skills for an assassin. An assassin kills by stealth, with poison or hidden blade.

As we continued northward, I continued to find it hard to concentrate. My sister’s anger had obviously distressed me deeply. I could not let it affect me so, as both Tansy and her niece depended on my fighting skills to protect them in this lawless land even if neither wished to acknowledge this reality. And I certainly could not allow Arya to use her “ninja fighting skills” against an actual armed opponent.

My lapse bothered me. I had let Arya use a sword, a wooden one but a blade nonetheless, before teaching her the basic exercises. I corrected that oversight on the following morning, pretending as though I had intended to do so after working with swords. I do not think either Tansy or Arya noticed my confusion, but it concerned me. My sister needed me. I had to regain my composure.

We drew closer to the castle known as The Twins, and Arya became increasingly agitated despite the calming effect of the morning exercises. Her mother and her brother had been killed there in the so-called Red Wedding, and she longed to avenge herself against the Frey family who controlled the castle.

As she described them, I wondered what made them such a force for evil. I did not doubt their malicious conduct, but the Mighty Pig had had naught but disdain for the Freys and even the Lannister’s squire had scorned them. The Freys had been the object of their cruel jokes, and Crakehall had shown open contempt for Black Walder Frey when we met for single combat. How had such a bumbling pack of fools managed to conduct a well-organized plot without giving away their intentions?

The Lannisters. The Freys had not suddenly attained adequacy through the intervention of non-existent gods or magic – the Lannisters had planned the operation for them.

“The Freys do the bidding of the Lannisters?” I asked Arya.

“I don’t know. What does that matter?”

“I have met Freys,” I said. “They are far too stupid to create such a complex plan on their own.”

“The Lannisters didn’t make them kill my family,” Arya argued. “Didn’t make them hate us.”

“Why did they hate your family?”

I had heard some of this story from Thoros of Myr when he explained how Catelyn Stark had died the first time, but the details had confused me.

“I wasn’t there so I only know what I heard,” Arya said. “I had just reached the castle when the killing started, and The Hound dragged me away before I could die bravely and stupidly.”

I nodded my understanding.

“So my brother Robb, the King in the North, needed to bring his army across the Green Fork.”

I knew the Green Fork to be the name of the river flowing southward, to our left on the other side of some forest.

“The Frey castle, called the Twins, controls the only bridge over the river. My brother agreed to marry one of the Frey daughters if they would let his army cross. Though that sounds more like something my mother would arrange. When my brother married someone else, Lord Frey took vengeance by murdering him at a wedding feast for my uncle, my mother’s brother.”

Such treachery is not unknown on Barsoom, but difficult to accomplish in a society of telepaths.

“They trusted the Freys?” I asked, somewhat surprised. I would never willingly turn my back on the one Frey I had met.

“They had guest right!”

“Guest right?”

“It’s sacred tradition,” Arya explained. “When you take some bread and salt from your host, he’s obligated to protect you, not to murder you.”

“Why is it worse to murder someone after eating their bread rather than before?”

“Because you gave your word,” Arya said. “They broke their word.”

“As did your brother.”

“Well, yes. He never should have given it, and then never should have broken it. That doesn’t mean he should have died for it.”

I thought about this for a few moments. On Barsoom, Robb Stark would have forfeited his crown for breaking a betrothal in this manner, and been cast out by his people. Had he any honor, he would have then killed himself. I would not have murdered someone for such an affront. I would have challenged them properly and slain them with sword or pistol.

I wondered why King Robb did not have his engineers build a bridge of their own, or at least build boats. I realized that the armies of these lands had no engineers, or very much organization, and were not properly “armies” at all but more like armed mobs.

“They killed many at this wedding.”

“Yes,” Arya said. “Not just the Freys, but the Boltons betrayed Robb too. They killed Robb and our mother, and many others. Some might be prisoners; I just don’t know. But I’m sure Robb and Mother were killed. And Grey Wind, his dire wolf.”

I remembered hearing of the Boltons. Their soldiers had murdered Tansy’s sex workers and burned her brothel. I did not mention this to Arya.

“The Boltons are a Northern house.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I should have killed Roose Bolton when I had the chance. I was his cup-bearer.”

That confused me; by my understanding, the Starks ranked higher than the Boltons. But she seemed to believe it to be true.

“I want to kill them all,” Arya said, in a calm and reasoned voice. I wondered if I sounded so nonchalant about dealing death to strangers. “All at once. Winter will come for House Frey.”

“I wish you’d let this go,” Tansy finally spoke up. “I worry about you.”

Arya turned quickly to face Tansy, and this time I caught her thoughts; she almost reminded Tansy that she was not, in fact, Arya’s mother, but stopped herself before the words were spoken and could not be taken back.

“I can change faces,” Arya said instead. “I learned how among the Faceless Men. I’ll take Walder Frey’s place, summon all of his male relatives for a grand feast, and then poison them all in a special toast to the family’s greatness. I’ll let the women go unharmed.”

I have lived for 441 of Barsoom’s long years and this was, quite possibly, the stupidest plot of which I had ever heard. Had I encountered it in an adventure story, I would have ordered the authors imprisoned for defrauding their audience and possibly had them executed.

Tansy appeared to agree with my assessment.

“You’ll pretend to be Lord Walder and arrange the feast,” she said, “including finding, what, buckets full of poison? That the Freys just leave lying around because they’re evil. And then send out ravens to summon all the Freys home, wait for them to arrive, then poison them? Only the men, because no women will drink the wine. And none of the servants will taste the wine first. And you’ll do all this while staying in character?”

“First, I’ll use my ninja fighting skills to kill Walder’s sons and bake them into a pie, take the place of a serving girl and present them to Lord Walder before I kill him. Then comes the feast of death.”

“So you’d murder an innocent servant,” Tansy said, “just for the dramatic effect?”

Arya did not answer. I wondered if this child was delusional, or if wild fantasy was somehow a product of the extended childhood of these people. I could only read scattered thoughts from her most of the time; they did not appear insane though I suspected that she could easily become a pathological killer. She seemed to regret killing people even less than I did.

“You mentioned before that you can make yourself look like another person,” I asked. “But you are not as skilled as the murderous Waif.”

“Their face, anyway,” she said. “We learn to peel the skin of their face off the dead and affix them over our own.”

“Would it not just look like a dead face?”

“We’re not supposed to speak of it.”

“You left them, did you not?”

“You’re right,” Arya allowed, “I did. We were taught to say nothing of what went on inside the House of Black and White. There’s a bottle of special oil that preserves the skin, another oil that helps your muscles move the face lining your own, and a magic spell to work as well.”

I assumed that this “magic spell” served to help concentrate the mind and make involuntary muscles move semi-voluntarily.

“What about the rest of your body?” I asked. “The Waif changed hers to hide her woman’s curves, but you said you did not learn these methods.”

“They taught us costuming techniques,” Arya said, “just like in a theater. Padding, elevated shoes, that sort of thing.”

“I do not like this plan,” I said. “My sister likes it less.”

Tansy nodded, still unhappy with me but even less pleased with Arya’s idiotic scheme. 

* * *

We rode on, and now both Tansy and Arya seemed upset. Finally we approached the castle. The Twins consisted of two matching fortresses on either end of a stone bridge crossing a wide river. A smaller fortress stood at the mid-point of the bridge. The Frey family apparently profited by charging tolls of passing merchants; had Robb Stark shown even a little patience he could have blockaded the road leading to the Twins and starved them of income. His foolishness had ruined many lives besides his own. His younger sister appeared to share his impulsiveness.

“If you don’t like my plan, do you have another?” Arya asked me. “Can you break into the Twins and help me kill Lord Walder?”

I still believed her plan to be stupid, but knew I could not dismiss it out of hand without simply reinforcing her determination. I looked intently at the castle. Men with weapons Arya identified as crossbows patrolled the gates and walls. These threw a bolt that would pierce a knight’s armor; they would do far worse to my exposed flesh. I had been fortunate so far to avoid the dangers of arrows and bolts, but I clearly could not storm this fortress by myself.

So far I had made little effort to use my scientific knowledge. I knew how to make the complex chemical crystals used in our firearms including the cannon on our flying warships. It is a very powerful explosive – in his willful ignorance John Carter had believed it had to be powered by radium – but it is still a nitrogen-carbon formula. It requires a sophisticated industrial base for its manufacture; these people did not even use steam power and lacked the social fabric to industrialize.

I knew a simpler formula that could produce explosives of much less power using easily-obtained carbon, sulfur and the potassium salts these people used to preserve food. Or by reducing the nitrates out of animal urine; I believed that could be done here as on Barsoom. The chemistry of life was nearly identical else I could not have eaten their food. But while I call these simple, they still would require more labor and resources than I was likely to find without a great deal of help; these were certainly not items I could obtain in secret and mix in some hidden laboratory. I would not be able to deploy Barsoomian super science to destroy the Frey stronghold. My sword remained my weapon of choice.

“Dejah?” Tansy asked. “Are you with us?”

“Yes,” I said. “I cannot kill them all with my sword before they kill us.”

“You two can wait here,” Arya said. “I’ll go in to kill Lord Walder, and then come back. It won’t take long.”

“Arya,” Tansy tried to soothe her. “You can’t devote your life to bloody vengeance.”

“They killed my mother. My brother. Your sister. Your nephew. I don’t have to kill the entire family, just Lord Walder. I’ll go in there and take the place of a servant, kill Lord Walder, and come back out. You two can wait for me out here.”

“It’s not a matter of whether you can,” Tansy said. “It’s whether you should. Killing someone else kills a part of you, too.”

“It doesn’t hurt Dejah.”

“Tansy is right,” I said. “I am not the woman I was.”

“Are you alright?” Tansy asked, looking at me closely for the first time in several days.

“I am very tired,” I said. “And very hungry.”

Tansy placed her hand on my forehead.

“I thought she’d been sulking again,” Tansy said, “but she’s burning with fever. Arya, we have to take care of Dejah.”

I had not been sulking. At least I did not think so.

“It won’t take long,” Arya protested. “I promise.”

“Which is more important? Dejah or vengeance?”

“Dejah,” Arya said. “She’s your sister. Family comes first.”

“That’s the right answer. Dejah protects us, and now it’s our turn. She needs us. We go north, to your father’s lands. Who will be loyal still?”

“I don’t know,” Arya said. “So much has changed there. But Howland Reed was his best friend. He rules the swamp lands just north of here.”

“Then we’ll take Dejah to the swamp lord,” Tansy said. “And you’ll be home, or at least on your way there.” 

* * *

When we came upon a tavern outside a small village, we did not avoid it. We all wanted to bathe, and I needed food. A great quantity of food. I argued that they should buy food and bring it to me, so that I was not recognized. But my mind was hazy and they ignored me. This far to the north, Tansy and Arya claimed, there would be no more Lannister patrols and the Freys would stay away as feared the men of the swamp lord. I wanted food and sleep so badly that I agreed.

We were wrong. They had been waiting in the village, and in my hunger and exhaustion I had not scanned for hostile thoughts beyond the tavern itself. Men wearing gray cloaks with blue castle decorations poured through the door of the tavern. I pushed Tansy’s head down.

“Get under the table,” I said.

She pulled Arya with her, and I saw the girl struggle in her grasp.

“They call me Black Walder Frey,” the soldiers’ leader said. “I have a writ from King Jaime for the arrest of two whores. The charge is the murder of his royal sister, Queen Cersei, First of Her Name.”

I stood, pulled back my hood and dropped my cloak onto the table. I drew my sword and stepped in front of the armed intruders.

“I killed Cersei,” I said. “Alone.”

“Good on you, girl!” one of the men at the opposite end of the room shouted.

“You! You’re the Queenslayer?” Black Walder had recognized me from the fight with the Mighty Pig. “Jaime Lannister wants his sword back. Surrender now, you and your perverted lover too.”

“That will not happen.”

He had not drawn his sword, so I shoved him backward into the mass of his men behind him. I cut down the first two men still on their feet before they could react, and then it became a real fight.

There were six men still standing, plus the knight on the floor. One more remained outside holding their horses. They could only attack me two at a time, because of the press of tables and benches, and even then they easily became tangled together. I killed one man with a powerful upward stroke that opened his chest and throat and removed the bottom part of his face. The man next to him hesitated and I cut him across the throat.

I pressed forward against the next two men. One of the men behind them tried to climb onto a table to jump on top of me, and I stabbed him in the groin. He dropped his sword and fell backwards holding the wound with both hands. The other man behind those I had engaged chose not to repeat the maneuver.

The fight had not lasted long, but already I tired. My sword felt heavy in my hands for the first time since I had pulled it out of Brienne’s broken heart. One of the remaining Frey fighters pushed the others back to give himself more room. I met his stroke and forced his sword backwards hard enough to drive it into the wooden table next to him. It stuck there. While he struggled to pull it loose, I ran him through.

Two Freys were left on their feet but I picked up the thoughts of another man entering through the tavern’s lone window. I had no time. I cut the legs out from under one of my foes and he fell; my boot crushed his throat and he gagged. He would die soon. The second man, seeing his own life soon to end, put up a furious defense but could not match my speed even in my reduced state. He met my strike and I pressed his sword back toward his face. As his eyes grew large I felt the thoughts of Black Walder; he was up off the floor and had his dagger out to stab me in the back.

I twisted but felt so tired. The dagger took me in the upper part of my left shoulder instead of the center of my back. My shoulder burned with the pain, yet I had no feeling in my left arm. I struck Black Walder in the face with my right elbow on the back-swing and stabbed the last Frey soldier through his heart. All of them were down, but I was moving very slowly now.

Black Walder lay on the floor looking up at me. Blue droplets fell on the gray tunic covering his armor, matching the blue castle sewn there; something in the back of my mind screamed that this was a very bad thing. He raised his hands and said, “I yield,” managing to cover his ulsio’s face with a sneer as he did so. His thoughts said he did not mean it, so I stabbed him through the heart, twisted the blade and snarled. He voided his waste and died. I had been wrong when I first met Black Walder; I did not enjoy killing him.

“Arya! No!”

I glanced backward and saw that Arya Stark had scampered out from under the table to confront the Frey soldier who had climbed through the window. She leapt from table to table, pretending to be a ninja and waving her little sword, but the Frey soldier was not amused and punched her in the face, dazing her and knocking her against the back wall of the tavern. I rushed to help her but it seemed as though the air had become very thick. She tried to drop her little sword from one hand to the other, but it fell onto a table where the soldier picked it up and ran her through, pinning her to the wooden wall.

Tansy jumped on the soldier, smashing his head into the edge of a table. They collapsed on the floor. I put my sword on the table and pulled Tansy off him with my remaining good arm. She leapt over to Arya. The soldier was groggy but alive, so I lifted my foot and brought my hob-nailed boot sharply down on his head. He skull shattered and he died. I staggered back to my sister and the girl. Arya had slid into a sitting position against the wall, leaving a wide streak of blood on its dirty surface. I joined Tansy on my knees next to Arya.

Arya looked down at the sword hilt still sticking out of her chest, her eyes wide. I now could clearly read her thoughts; she had thought herself invulnerable.

“He . . . he stuck me with . . . with the pointy end.”

“You fought well,” I lied.

“I had your back, Dejah.”

“I know.”

Tansy cradled the girl’s face in her hands and looked at me. I shook my head. She was dying, and now spoke very slowly and with great effort.

“Mama,” Arya said to Tansy. “It hurts.”

“I know, sweetling,” Tansy said, now crying freely. “Mama’s here, and she loves you.”

Arya tried to speak again, but her gray eyes became cloudy. She relaxed and now stared sightlessly at a point somewhere above my sister’s shoulder.

“What did she say?”

“I wish you’d really been my Mama,” I choked out. “I love you, Tansy.”

“I wish that, too,” Tansy said, her voice breaking. “I love you, sweet Arya.”

Tansy turned to me, and her speech became harsh.

“She wanted to fight just like you do. Those soldiers came here looking for you. She died trying to defend you. If you hadn’t been here, she’d still be alive and I’d have . . . I’d have . . .”

“I am sorry, Tansy.”

“Are you? Now you have what you wanted. She’s out of the way and you have me all to yourself.”

Stricken, I slumped forward, catching myself with my right hand. A pain far worse than that inflicted by Black Walder’s dagger seemed to crush my chest. I knew that my sister had been unhappy with me, but the depth of her anger struck me like a physical slap and caught me by surprise.

“Dejah! You’re hurt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris has a life-altering encounter.
> 
> Note: Hot Pie's mistaking the disguised Waif for Arya would have been a common error. People of the late medieval world had little idea of what they or others looked like outside of those they saw in their daily experience. They had no photos or internet to remind them. Natalie Zemon Davis wrote a book about it, "The Return of Martin Guerre."


	27. Chapter Twenty (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you meet someone, and everything changes.

Chapter Twenty (Dejah Thoris)

I remember very little of what followed the death of Arya Stark. I know that the men who had watched the fight now ran out the door, and that Tansy argued with the tavern-keeper who did not want to help her. I recall lying face-down on one of the rough wooden tables, staring at an ale pitcher right in front of my nose. I would have liked some. Tansy boiled wine, poured it over the wound and sewed the deep cut closed while I screamed. I believe that I screamed a great deal. I think I heard her talking with a male voice about whether they should pull the dagger out or not. Somehow, she bandaged my shoulder and got me onto a horse, and put Arya’s body, wrapped in a cloth she found somewhere, across another horse.

We rode for a long time. I think we veered off the road to hide among the trees at least once. I was not quite unconscious, but it felt like a dream. A very long, painful and unpleasant dream. Finally, we stopped. Some short men gently helped me off the horse and carried me into a large wooden building, using a stout cloth they held tight. They lay me in a bed and people came and went, some of them poking and prodding me, others forcing me to swallow things.

My first clear recollection was of a tall, slender young woman with brown hair pulled into two long braids, wearing a green tunic and sitting next to my bed. I had never seen her before, but I immediately knew that my life had changed once again. She was beautiful; having found myself unexpectedly alive, I likely would have found anyone beautiful in that moment. A younger woman in an identical tunic with similar braids sat next to her, reading from a book. The bed frame had been filled with furs, in the style of Barsoom.

“Do you know who you are?” the beautiful woman asked.

“I think so.”

“Close enough. I’ll go tell them.”

The two women rose quietly, and the elder one patted me gently on the upper arm. A third woman, this one with dark red hair who I had not spotted before, also rose from a chair in the corner; she had been napping but smiled at me and gently touched my knee as the three of them left.

The two brown-haired women soon returned with an older, broad-shouldered woman along with a short man and Tansy. Tansy sat on the edge of the bed and took both of my hands in hers. She had been crying.

“I’m so sorry for what I said,” she looked into my eyes, her voice rough. “I was frightened and angry and I just lashed out. You will always be my sister.”

Sometimes it is best not to remember.

“I killed Black Walder and the rest of his Frey men,” I said. “Someone stabbed me in the back. Arya Stark died. I screamed. That is the last I remember.”

“I was so worried. You barely moved by the end.”

The short man dragged a foot across the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Tansy said. “This is Maege (she pronounced it Mah-Eezh, like a name of Helium) Mormont, a military commander and one of the great lords of the North, her daughters Lyra and Jorelle, and Howland Reed. He rules this place, and he tended your wound and your fever.”

“Thank you,” I told Howland Reed. “Will I recover?”

“You were already growing very ill before you were stabbed,” Lord Reed said. “Your fever was terrible, but seems to have broken. Your wound should heal with rest.”

I looked at Maege Mormont, who smiled back.

“I did not know,” I said, “that women here went to war.”

“They do on my island,” she said. “But I don’t know that I’ve ever met a killer princess.”

She seemed to approve, but it made me feel uneasy.

“Please do not call me that,” I said, as gently as I could. “I am very good at killing people, but I do not like it. The killing.”

She took the seat next to the bed that her daughter had occupied when I awoke. The swamp lord bowed and left the room along with the younger Mormonts.

“Second thoughts?” Maege asked.

I understood the concept in her mind.

“No,” I said. “I have no feelings at all in battle, and that disturbs me. And I only regret some of the killing. One of the killings.”

“That’s all it takes.”

Tansy climbed into the bed and put her head on my uninjured shoulder. I could tell she had done this before. Maege Mormont made to leave as well. I reached out for her hand.

“Please come back soon,” I said. “I would enjoy speaking with you.”

Her thoughts indicated surprise, but she promised to return and meant it. I liked what I found in her mind: she and her daughters had taken turns with Tansy watching over me, and she was genuinely concerned. For a stranger. She feared I would think they had been standing guard.

“You killed Black Walder?” she asked.

“Yes. I broke his pointed weasel nose and then stabbed him in the heart.”

“Thank you.”

She left without explaining. I could not yet focus well enough to probe her mind for more. Meanwhile Tansy raised herself on one elbow and stroked my hair.

“I thought,” she said, “I’d lost my sister.”

“I think you almost did. Micro-organisms are ever the bane of invaders from Mars.”

“You’re not right in the head yet, are you? I was talking about Arya.”

“I am sad that she died.”

“I was cruel to you,” Tansy said. “I was only angry that she’d died. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I only remember that my sister protected me. I remember you carrying me, and sewing my wound.”

“You’re far heavier than you look. I couldn’t have done it alone. The innkeep ran away but I had help from the man who cheered you for killing Cersei. He boiled the wine, found the needle and thread, and helped me carry you and get you onto the horse. I never got his name.”

“You brought me here.”

“You couldn’t ride alone,” Tansy said, “so I rode behind you and held you in place. I headed into the swamps and Lord Reed’s men found us and guided us here.”

“Where is here?”

“A wooden castle called Greywater Watch. It somehow floats on a swamp. It’s north of the Twins, on the way to the North itself. The people are called crannogmen, and they’re decidedly odd but they’ve been very friendly. We didn’t just find them by chance; they were already looking for us. Somehow Lord Reed knew who we were, and knew that we needed help.”

“They healed me here?”

“Lord Reed treated you,” Tansy said, “and the Mormonts all helped.”

“And you never left me.”

“Well, sometimes, but Lyra was always here if I wasn’t. She’s a very good woman.”

She paused.

“Dejah, I think they know.”

“Know what?”

“About you,” she said. “Who you are. What you are. That you can read their thoughts. You spoke in your sleep, and you lost a lot of blue blood.”

“Are you worried?”

“I think we can trust them. I think we have to trust them. They could have done whatever they wanted and I couldn’t have stopped them, but they’ve been nothing but kind. And I really like the Mormont sisters.”

“I will trust your judgment,” I said. “Thank you for protecting me.”

“You’re my sister and I love you. I’m sorry I forgot that.” 

* * *

Maege Mormont came often to visit, and I did enjoy speaking with her. She told me about her eldest daughter, named Dacey, who had fought alongside Arya Stark’s brother as one of his personal guard.

“You remind me of her,” Maege said. “Tall, fierce and dark-haired. But still a woman.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was murdered at the Twins by Black Walder’s father, during the Red Wedding. You’ve heard about the Red Wedding?”

I nodded.

“I was glad to hear,” she said, “that you’d killed Black Walder.”

“Does that make you suffer less?” I did not mean to be sarcastic, and she did not take it that way.

“No.” She sighed. “They call me the She-Bear, and I carry a bear’s worth of rage and hatred for what they did. Those feelings are burning me away inside.”

I picked out the image of a huge, ferocious animal from her mind. It was also the symbol of her house; she wore it on her clothing.

“And I worry that I feel so little.”

“Maybe I envy you that,” she said. “I’m not sure. Dacey was full of feeling, full of life. She was the best of me. I think you were like that before all the killing, weren’t you?”

“I think so too. I had killed before, many times, but never in these numbers and never with this coldness of heart.”

“She had killed too, in battle, and maybe she was spared the hardening that would have come after. I’ll never know. But I miss her terribly.”

“I have no daughters,” I said, which was not true but I did not know how to explain the difference in relationships, “and have struggled to understand Tansy’s loss. She grieves for Arya Stark as the daughter she never had.”

“You don’t bear children the same as we do, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you naked,” Maege said. “You’re not like other women.”

“No, I am not. We have children but the process is very different and the bonds that result are not as . . . intense.”

“I can’t really explain, then. It feels like they’re part of you, but even more important. I’ve heard it called the perfect love and I think that’s true. You give them love and you expect nothing in return. And you don’t even think to expect anything in return.

“I have other daughters who I love fiercely, you’ve met two of them, but Dacey was my first. She made me a better woman.

“I’ve spent a good deal of time with your sister while you were sleeping. I think she’s better now, and appreciates what she does have.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

The Lord of Greywater Watch came to visit regularly and check on my healing. He told me that I needed to rest, so I stayed in bed and rested. An adventure hero would want to get up and begin more adventures before her wounds could heal. I stayed in bed. There was bacon, too, but no pie.

He lingered one day, taking the seat next to my bed. He had brought a large two-handled pitcher filled with a thick liquid food called soup, tasty with pieces of meat and vegetables. I put aside the bowl he offered and drank it down straight from the pitcher. His eyes were green, a darker green than those of Cersei.

“I had never seen you,” he said, “before you arrived here.”

An odd way to open a conversation.

“And I had never seen you.”

“I have visions,” he explained, “that we call the greensight. It’s not always reliable, and often it must be interpreted. I had seen your friend who you call sister, and knew her as Hoster Tully’s daughter.”

“Do you see me now?”

“Yes,” he said. “Your arrival in our world changed many things. You’ve killed people who would not have died, at least not yet, or helped bring about their deaths. You’ve saved others who should have died, or at least changed the manner of their deaths.”

“What do you mean,” I asked, as innocently as possible, “my arrival in your world?”

“We’re alone here,” he said. “I will keep your secrets. I know you can read thoughts; you spoke in your fevered sleep, answering questions that had not been asked. You are not from this world. That wound went deep, but caused more harm than it should have. You’re not constructed exactly the same as we are.”

He stated it as fact, not a question. I simply nodded. Black Walder’s blade would have come close to my heart, offset to the left rather than centered as in this branch of humanity, had it gone deeper.

“Beyond that,” Howland Reed said, “you were gravely ill. That fever would have killed most women. Even so, you were very hot and had to be cooled. I bathed you with wet cloths. I had to undress you for that. I know your body isn’t like that of other women. Don’t worry, Lady Mormont, her daughters or my wife was always present.”

Since we are often unclothed on Barsoom, I could not very well object. And I was highly grateful to this small, curious man for my continued life.

"And then there was your wound. I had to replace the stitches your sister placed there and clean it to prevent infection."

"Thank you."

"Your blood is blue."

Small wonder the innkeeper ran away.

“What,” I asked, “do you see of me now?”

“You have a terrible destiny.”

“So I have been told.”

“By whom?”

“A Red Priest named Thoros called me Azor Ahai,” I said, “and told me that I must place my sword between the breasts of my beloved. I will allow this entire world to perish rather than harm my sister.”

“Tanith Tully is tied to your destiny, but I cannot see whether it is she who makes that sacrifice. I think it likely.”

“There will be no stabbing of breasts.”

“My greensight shows you fighting,” Lord Reed said, “and shows you running your sword through the heart of a willing red-haired woman. That doesn’t mean it will happen, only that it is likely.”

“I understand. Who does your god want me to fight? And should I fight this person or creature?”

I liked this man’s gentle, evenly flowing thoughts and trusted his judgement. Though I did not yet know if I would follow his advice.

“Someone,” he said, “or maybe something, we call the Night’s King. I believe that a good and gentle young man named Jon Snow will be killed and rise in this new and terrible form. At one time I believed he had a great destiny, though he believed himself an unwanted bastard. Some believed him to be the son of a prince, and heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Others thought he would become Azor Ahai. I once shared this latter view, but have come to believe otherwise. He will die, rise and bring an end to this world if he is not stopped.”

“Do the dead often rise in your land?”

“No,” he said. “It has begun to the North. Creatures we call the Others or White Walkers can raise the dead and make them their slaves. Those risen have no will or power of speech. You’ve seen the dead rise?”

“A woman they called Stone Heart,” I said. “She could speak, but not well, and had a will of her own. She hated all living things. I killed her with my sword, and the blade caught fire. That is when Thoros called me Azor Ahai.”

“She was once Catelyn Stark.”

“Sister to Tansy and mother to Arya. I know. She had become evil.”

“She was my friend,” Lord Reed said, “and I loved her deeply, but I believe that to be true as well. So it is with Jon Snow. The Night’s King will lead the armies of the dead and give them direction. It will be up to the reborn Azor Ahai to stop him. The hero who saved the world once must do so again.”

“I am not a hero. I am a princess who kills people. A combination of privilege and murder. That is not heroic.”

“But it is necessary. The strands are coming together. Your sister Tansy and the Mormonts are part of this story. And you know you likewise came here for a purpose.”

“To find John Carter.”

“That was your purpose. How has your search progressed?”

“Not well,” I said. “I do not believe this is his world. But I believe someone from my world has been here. The queen recognized my title when I spoke it in my own language as I killed her.”

“Mayhap you didn’t come here by accident, or for the reason you believed.”

“I will think on this.”

He left me to my thoughts. I did not believe in gods. We are hatched, we make our own path, and then we die. Once I believed differently, and then the goddess Issus tried to kill me. Yet it could not be argued: I raised my hands to Jasoom, and then I appeared on this planet as if by magic. I had read once that a sufficiently advanced technology cannot be distinguished from magic. But who would deploy such advanced science simply to send me to this strange place to stab people with a sword? Could not my unseen manipulators simply incinerate those they wished dead? Or teleport them into the airless depths of space? Why did they need me?

And what about the changes to me? Not only had my body been transformed into a killing machine, with enhanced strength, speed and toughness. So had my mind. Before I transited space, I was a kind and gentle person. I know this in my heart. The people of Helium loved Dejah Thoris and I loved them back. I cared for lost animals, I sought out the poor and wretched to give them aid. I gave love and it came back to me a thousand-fold.

Or so I preferred to believe. I had summarily executed rebels against my grandfather’s rule. Yet in so doing I carried out the laws of Helium that had stood for one hundred thousand years.

Now I killed people without regret. And not just the screaming woman in Harrenhal. I had been fully aware of my actions when I murdered Dorcas the serving girl and stuffed her corpse down an abandoned service shaft. I did not hesitate to stab Cersei Lannister with a spork between her gravity-defying breasts – presented with unusual tableware, I turned it into a weapon. I killed the archer on the bridge and his comrade in the cellar in utter indifference. I slaughtered the sick Holy Hundred warriors. I killed Black Walder as he lay helpless. I stabbed Taena Merryweather in the back and thought only to steal her clothing. I killed Dickon Tarly who only wanted to please his cold father. I killed the murderous Waif, unsure if she might not be the real Arya. And the list went on. One could argue each individual case, that they had tried to kill me or someone else, or that they were very bad people. That did not remove the fact that I had ended their lives.

And there was more. I ordered men hanged, and strangers leapt to do my bidding. I cried for Brienne’s lost dreams when I first arrived on this planet. Yet I had never cried for the death of little Arya, who wanted to be just like me, who my sister thought of as the daughter she had never and could never have. Had I hardened so much by then? Was all of this simply preparation to meet the Night’s King, to drain any compassion out of me so that I would not hesitate to kill this Jon Snow?

I fell asleep still pondering these questions, and awoke in darkness to find Tansy curled up with me, her leg thrown across my body. I loved my new-found sister; at least one good thing had come of my stay on this planet. And was that simply a prelude to sacrificing her?

I had breasts as well. I would sacrifice myself before I harmed Tansy. I kissed the top of her head, and fell back into sleep.

In the morning there was bacon. 

* * *

Maege’s daughters sometimes brought my food and checked my wound, and several days after Howland Reed’s discussion of my destiny the older of the two young women came with the usual cleaning cloths and bowl of hot water. Lyra Mormont smiled as she changed the bandage over my shoulder.

“Lord Reed says you’re much better,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“I think my mind is finally clear of the fever, and I am very hungry.”

“Now that’s a shock,” she said. “Would you like to finally leave this room?”

Tansy, sleeping alongside me, stirred and looked up.

“Go with Lyra,” she said. “You need the exercise.”

She rose and helped Lyra bring me first to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and then to my feet. After only a few moments I pulled my arms back from their shoulders and stood on my own.

“Try a few steps,” Tansy said.

I wobbled across the room, but did not fall.

“There’s a whole roasted sheep in the castle’s great hall,” Lyra said with a sly smile. “Fresh bread. Boiled lobsters.”

“Lobsters?” I asked.

“A shellfish,” Tansy explained. “Very tasty but sailors won’t eat them. Around here they probably have the freshwater kind. They’re edible; that means you’ll like them.”

“You will come too?”

“Of course,” Tansy said. “But we should probably wear clothes. And we need to bathe you first.”

I saw in Lyra’s thoughts that she meant for me to walk to the great hall and thought it would be good for me to do so, but she was not joking about lobsters. She believed them to be very good to eat.

I stood still while Tansy and Lyra cleaned me; I felt rather helpless but enjoyed their touch and that of the warm water. Lyra had brought clean dresses for us to wear, undecorated and brown, what she called “homespun.” She helped me pull mine over my head and checked its fit over my chest.

“This isn’t Bear Island,” she said. “We can’t have men seeing the side of a breast and going mad with lust.”

“Why not?”

She pondered my question, tempted to pull off her own similar dress.

“So as not to cause difficulties for our host, Lord Reed.”

“I can accept that.” I smiled. I liked Lyra very much.

“Bear Island is your home?” I asked.

“Yes, well to the north of here, amid ice-filled seas and wind-swept waves.”

“The Mormonts rule there?”

“From Mormont Keep,” she said, “our wooden fortress of solitude. The men fish, the women fight. Actually, everyone fights, when the Iron Born or the wildlings come raiding.”

“Do you miss your home?”

“Not as much as I miss my other sisters.”

After she adjusted my dress, I walked slowly down a long corridor to the great hall with Lyra and Tansy on either side of me, but I did not fall. I was tired when I reached the large open room filled with tables and benches; I took a seat across from Tansy while Lyra went to fetch some food for us.

“I’m glad to see you so much better,” Tansy said. “You had me worried.”

“What about you?” I asked, since Lyra was still in the kitchens. “I know it hurt you deeply to lose your niece.”

I had not liked Arya Stark, and were I honest with myself, I knew that I would not miss her company. I felt relief that she was no longer present, and guilt over feeling such when my sister clearly remained in deep emotional pain. I knew that I had done my best to save her, but I wondered if I could have done more to dispel her belief in her supposed “ninja fighting skills.” The ridiculous leaping and bouncing had inevitably led to her death once she faced an actual enemy.

“I’ll never get over it,” Tansy said, simply and directly. “I’m starting to learn to live with that. Maege and her daughters have been very kind. Actually everyone here has been.”

“I should have . . .”

“Hush,” Tansy cut me off. “I almost lost you, too.”

“I did not mean to sulk. I was glad that you found your niece. I only became unhappy when you seemed angry with me.”

“I wasn’t truly angry with you,” Tansy said. “I was angry with everyone and everything. I felt so empty after the pirates took me, so worthless, and suddenly finding Arya seemed like a miracle meant to fill that hole in my heart.”

“You have done a great deal of thinking.”

“A lot of talking,” she said, “with Lady Maege for the most part. Lyra as well.”

“They brought my sister back.”

“She never really left you. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

Lyra returned before I could answer, followed by three short women bearing large platters of food. Rather than the armored fish I had expected, a lobster turned out to be an insect about twice the size of my hand, with four legs along each side and two large claws. It had eyes on the end of stalks, but Lyra told me not to eat them.

She sat beside me, opposite Tansy, and showed me how to crack open a lobster and dip its white flesh into the little pot of melted butter she placed in front of me. It amused her that I could shatter the lobster’s shell with my fingers. She was right; I liked the flavor and texture very much. It felt like it melted on my tongue. We have nothing like this on Barsoom; our insects look much like lobsters though some are much larger and their flesh tastes like shit. I have eaten them nonetheless when stranded in the deserts that cover most of our planet.

I looked around the hall. A few soldiers ate in one corner, and servants filled another table. All seemed satisfied in their work, and both tables talked about preparations for a coming wave of colder weather. The hall itself had wooden walls, decorated with heavy tapestries showing scenes of nature – all of them swamps. We have swamps on Barsoom, thick and filled with deadly plants and creatures. These looked little different, except for the oppressive green everywhere instead of the comforting red of our planet’s plant life.

The dampness in the air helped feed that feeling of oppression. Even the wooden table seemed to have a thin film of water on it. The air felt very heavy, and a pervasive smell of rot underlay the pleasant aroma of roasted meat. The daughter of a very dry and, if truth be told, dying planet, I felt very uncomfortable in this place. Yet the people here evoked completely different emotions. For the first time since arriving on this planet, I felt very safe.

“She does this,” Tansy was telling Lyra. “Dejah has a very active conversation going on in her own head, and sometimes she ducks out of the real world to give it her full attention.”

“I am sorry,” I said. “Did you speak to me?”

“I asked if you liked the lobsters,” Lyra said. “Not that I needed to ask.”

The remains of at least six destroyed lobsters overflowed the wooden platter in front of me and littered the table as well. I noticed that I had not yet sampled the roast mutton, the bread or the other dishes. I looked around for a place to discard the lobster carapaces.

“You can just push them aside,” Lyra said. “We can clean up when you’re done.”

“We? Not the servants?”

“They work hard enough as it is,” she said. “Mormonts clean up their own messes.”

I pondered that thought. It had not been our way in Helium, where a small army of servants tended to every whim of a princess. I would not repay the kindness I had received here with pettiness.

“I will learn the Mormont way.”

Lyra looked across to Tansy.

“You were right. I like her.”

“You have made a friend,” I said to Tansy.

“I suppose I have,” my sister said. “Bonded over cooling your fever. I haven’t had many friends.”

“I have,” Lyra said. “But there’s room for more.” 

* * *

I slept away the rest of the day, this time a deeper, restoring sleep. In the morning Lyra’s younger sister Jorelle, known as Jory, woke us for First Meal. She was not quite as tall as her sister, but had the same dark-brown hair, blue eyes instead of Lyra’s brown and somewhat plainer features than Lyra’s exquisite beauty though still very pretty. I knew myself prejudiced toward attractive people, an arrogance common among royals, yet I had already come to like the Mormont sisters and hoped they would become my friends.

The red-haired woman I had seen before now stood in the doorway, saying nothing.

“You guard Jory,” I said to her.

“I do,” she said, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “And you as well, at least until you can take care of yourself. My name’s Trisha. I’m sworn sword to House Mormont.”

“I am Dejah Thoris,” I said. “Princess of Helium. But you may call me Dejah.”

“Lord Reed says you need to walk now,” Jory said. “Lyra said I should tempt you with bacon.”

“Bacon is tempting,” I agreed. “Is there coffee?”

“No coffee this far north,” she said. “I’ve never tasted it. Is it delicious?”

“It has a wonderful scent,” I answered as I pulled myself into a sitting position. Tansy hovered over me but did not help. “But an awful taste. Like pieces of burned wood that have been ground up and boiled.”

“Why drink it then?”

“It is a stimulant.”

“A stimulant,” she repeated. “You mean it’s a drug?”

“I suppose so. I have shown you my weakness.”

She laughed.

“From what I hear, there’s no weakness about you at all. Can you stand on your own?”

I did without trouble. Jory handed me another clean brown dress, and I pulled it over my head without help.

Tansy and Jory flanked me, with Trisha hovering directly behind me, but this time I only stumbled once on my way to the great hall and Trisha quickly righted me. I helped collect the food and bring it to a table for us – bacon, biscuits, butter and ale.

“So,” Jory began, sitting next to Trisha across from Tansy and I. “You two are so different. How did you come to be sisters?”

“Our mother carried us as twins,” I said. I had heard of twins, but not yet seen any, and the concept fascinated me. “It was a difficult birth.”

“No, really,” Jory answered. She was very earnest. “I’ve always had sisters. Been surrounded by sisters.”

We had told many people that we were sisters. Some accepted this, some did not. But no one had ever asked about it.

“We separately fell in with a band of outlaws,” I said.

“Freedom fighters,” Tansy corrected.

“I saw no fighting for freedom,” I said. “But some pigs were stolen.”

“An outlaw princess?”

“Yes,” I said. “I stole no pigs. I did eat several, and defeated one in single combat. I stopped a crowd of angry women who wished to beat Tansy with sticks. We became friends. And then sisters.”

I hesitated, then plunged ahead.

“You both know,” I said, “that I can read the thoughts of others.” It was evident in their surface thoughts; neither woman seemed overly alarmed.

“Yes,” Jory said, “but Mother was adamant that we were to tell no one. Lyra was there too when we figured it out.”

“Thank you. Among my people, we learn from an early age to keep our thoughts to ourselves. People here usually do not do so; they have no reason to even consider restraining them. To someone like me it is like hundreds of people are shouting all at once. It has taken me a great deal of effort to learn not to hear that shouting.

“Tansy is one of the few people I have met who does keep her thoughts to herself. I was comfortable in her presence, when others still made me uneasy and anxious. I was lonely and very far from home, the only person like me in all of Westeros. Tansy wanted to be my friend when I desperately needed one.”

“Why did you join the outlaws?” Jory pressed on.

“They were the first people I met when I came to these lands. I knew no one else, and they let me stay with them. I think they were afraid I would kill them if they did not.”

“That’s exactly why they took you in,” Tansy said. “You killed their leader.”

“She wanted to murder innocent people,” I said. “I did not want to be involved but I could not allow that.”

“Why were you there, Lady Tanith?” Jory asked.

“It’s a complicated story,” my sister said, “but the short version is that I wanted to kill their leader. She had murdered people I cared about and I’d stopped caring about anything.”

“You are no killer,” I said. “I am glad that you did not kill anyone.”

“Lady Maege says you’re a great fighter,” Trisha spoke up. “And that you killed Black Walder Frey.”

“His father,” Jory added, “murdered my sister Dacey.”

“I do not like killing people,” I said, “but some people need killing. Black Walder was one of those.”

“I don’t know,” Jory said, “if I could have done that.” I saw Trisha silently mouth, “I could have.” She deeply approved of my killing the Frey soldiers.

“You do not wish to be a warrior?” I asked Jory.

“Dacey and Lyra are the fighters,” Jory said. “It’s not for me. Alysane loves being a mother, but I don’t think that’s for me either. I think my youngest sister, Lyanna, would be most at home as Queen of the North.”

She had fought briefly in several battles, always with Trisha alongside her. The idea of having to do so again terrified Jory. She feared death, and loathed the idea of killing someone else, but she did not want to disappoint her mother or shame her family.

“What do you love?” I asked.

“Horses. Dogs. All of Bear Island.”

“I love horses as well.”

“I know,” Jory smiled now. “I’ve been taking care of your horses. That large chestnut mare is a wonderful mount.”

“She is my favorite,” I said, “but please do not tell her so.”

“I think she knows. What’s her name?”

“I do not know. We do not name our mounts in my land.”

“But they have so much personality, it seems like they should.”

I pondered this; she spoke good sense but I found it hard to overcome a lifetime of habit.

“You have exercised them?”

“Every day, with Trisha,” Jory said. “There’s not any real open ground to let them run, but we ride each of them along the swamp paths as best we can.”

“I hope we can ride together soon.”

“I’d like that,” Jory said. “Do you ride, Lady Tanith?”

“I’ve told you before, just Tansy. I rode with Dejah to King’s Landing and back, but I started as a girl and loved horses ever since.”

“I think that’s the first thing that you two have in common,” Jory said. “You’re so different but still, you’re sisters. 

“Is it not that way,” I asked, “with your sisters as well?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris marches to war.


	28. Chapter Eight (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter receives welcome news.

Chapter Eight (John Carter)

Sorting out affairs in front of Myr took far longer than I had hoped. The Myrish ended up providing six companies of crossbowmen, just under 1,500 troops including their advanced trainees. We also hired a small company of mercenaries present in the city and known as the Black Stripes, just over 400 men. We took slightly more than 3,000 recruits with us, almost all of them former bravos, and 313 Unsullied.

The Black Stripes came with their own commander, a veteran named Lodovico, the bastard son of a Myr magister; he had founded the company and been its only commander. The crossbowmen formed a brigade under command of their senior captain, a Myrman named Syrello Ormaar. For the moment I left both in their positions.

I had hoped to find a small, victorious battle into which I could lead my Dothraki, but I did not want to earn the enmity of the dosh khaleen for no reason. I had added over 5,000 men to our ranks, about a third of them elite infantry. There would be no time to do more; we needed to march for Vaes Dothrak immediately.

I met once more with Horo Stassen, this time in my tent over wine. He knew of Illyrio and had purchased some cheeses from my friend, but they were not personally acquainted.

“I will tell you honestly, John Carter,” he said, actually intending to speak the truth. This surprised me: most men use the word to preface a lie. “I am not deeply concerned as to who rules Myr, Pentos or lands to the east. I care only for security to allow trade. Chaos is bad for business.”

“You’ve had a great deal of chaos.”

“The wars, you mean?” he asked. I nodded. “That’s quite true. I’d rather do business in Tyrosh than pay taxes to fight her.”

“What is your business, Horo Stassen?”

“Slave training,” he said. “I buy them young, and educate them for specialties. Tutors for the most part. Musicians. Chefs and pastry cooks. I can’t complete with Slaver’s Bay for bulk labor: field hands or dock workers, simple brutes who answer to the whip. Nor can I match the bedslaves of Lys. Educated slaves have to accept their status. It’s a long process with profit shown only a decade or more later.”

“Where do you get your young slaves?”

“I pay a premium for promising children of field hands and house slaves. And sometimes they come from Slaver’s Bay.”

“Slaver’s Bay?”

“A string of cities well to the east,” he said, “collection centers for both new captures and slave breeding. I’m surprised your Dothraki haven’t told you of it, most of the captures are sold by Dothraki raiders.”

“They’re white, or colored? The slaves, I mean.”

“White?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Pale-skinned, like you or I.”

“You mean of Andal stock? A good number of them. You can buy Rhoynar, Ghiscari or Dothraki slaves as well. Few have any preference.”

“That’s true in the upper classes as well? They’re also racially mixed?”

“Well, yes,” he said, genuinely puzzled. “It’s no greater a difference than height or hair color. Some have an aesthetic preference for a slave of one stock or another, but like any trader I have all types. Would any be of interest to you?”

He found my interest in racial divisions to be odd and somewhat disturbing.

“Scribes?” I asked.

“Yes. You need some?”

“I do.”

He hesitated.

“I would do further business with you, John Carter,” he finally said. “And thus I will tell you not to buy slaves for your needs. You have no experience with controlling the educated slave, nor do your Dothraki. They’ll run or die, more likely both, leaving you with nothing.”

He poured more wine for us both while I considered his words. I would have to ask Illyrio to find free recruits who could do my needed staff work for a fair wage.

“I had expected you to be selling rather than buying,” Horo Stassen continued. “You surely will have many captives you’ll wish to put on the block.”

I had not considered this. Armies of these lands made much of their profit through selling prisoners into slavery, as had those of earlier times on my own world. What did I intend for those taken by my own army?

“Your Pentoshi friends can’t deal in slaves,” he went on. “It’s forbidden by their law. You’ll need an agent. While it’s not my current specialty, I can make the arrangements.”

“Let me consider this,” I finally said. The noble Confederacy had been built on slavery, after all, but the enslaved were the members of a debased race, born into their condition and fortunate for the care of their masters. Horo Stassen proposed enslaving those who had been free, many of whom would be of the white race.

After he had left, I remained alone in my command tent to study my maps one final time before we set out. I found the geography strange and unnatural. Somehow, I had known almost immediately upon my arrival that this world was not my own, but it had many similarities. Plants, animals, food, people, language - all had been familiar.

Perhaps I had indeed come here to fulfill a prophecy, and my own destiny. But could I countenance selling members of a superior race into bondage to their inferiors?

* * *

During our days in front of Myr, I made sure to reserve at least one hour in the afternoon for my khaleesi. In such a crowded region we couldn’t ride under the stars to make love, and so we did so in my tent. Unsure that we could re-create that wondrous moonlit ride and unwilling that my princess suffer pain, I again summoned Doreah to prepare Daenerys to receive my manhood.

I still remained uneasy with the entire concept, that of one woman sexually pleasuring another. I vaguely seemed to recall having seen this and enjoyed watching, and indeed the thrill I felt in Daenerys’ thoughts as Doreah attended to her both excited and pleased me. While I found Doreah an unpleasant woman of sharp tongue and bitter disposition, her beauty an ironic contrast to the awfulness within, I could not deny that her sexual skills met her previous owner’s boasting. And I could not deny that her ministrations had made the entire experience easier for Daenerys.

“You need an heir,” my princess said after one particularly torrid session, as she nestled against my shoulder and Doreah slept alongside us. I had finished inside our slave, and though Daenerys had enjoyed herself to the point of feminine hysteria, she wasn’t satisfied with the outcome. “I want to give you a son.”

“That’s my greatest desire,” I said. “A blending of you and me.”

“I know you have needs,” she said. “But until I bear your child, you should give me your seed. All of it. I enjoy sharing pleasure with Doreah, and I even wouldn’t mind sharing it with Calye. She seems so lonely, and she was your first follower. Just give me your seed. Don’t waste any of it in either of them.”

She had never asked me to set Calye aside, nor did she do so now. I didn’t know how my former bedwarmer would react; I didn’t want to find her having cut her own throat.

My wife’s desire aroused me yet again. I gently pressed her onto her back, kissed each pink nipple and entered her again, careful not to press my full weight upon her. And this time I gave her all of my seed.

I still awakened Calye at dawn each morning and took her Dothraki-fashion amidst the horses. A khal has needs that cannot be denied, and has plentiful seed to bring a new heir into the world. Whatever I pumped into Calye would be generated again by the time Daenerys awoke.

* * *

I rode at the head of my khalasar. As I had promised my princess, this time Daenerys rode at my side between Ko Pono and Orange Cat. Before us stretched open pastureland and no sign of enemies. Irri, Strong Belwas and Calye rode behind us with Mormont; both Belwas and I had worked with Calye every day and she at least now knew how to hold her sword.

These lands fell under Myr’s rule, and following our agreement the Myrish magisters had sent out riders to instruct the locals to provide food and fodder for my khalasar. As long as the supplies appeared, I forbade my Dothraki to loot and plunder; so far, my orders had been obeyed.

I marveled at the richness of the land: orchards, fields, meadows and pastures. Slaves tended massive plantations, reminding me of Virginia at first glance. These lands, Mormont told me, supported the great city of Myr with grain and other foodstuffs; further south, they grew cash crops including the cotton that would be spun into apparently world-renowned Myrish lace. Despite Myr’s teeming population - estimated by Mormont at 300,000 to 500,000 - its hinterland generated grain surpluses that were stored and then sold across the so-called Narrow Sea to Westeros during winter seasons.

The comparison to Virginia ended after closer inspection: many if not most of the slaves were white, far more than I had expected after my talk with Horo Stassen. While I considered slavery part of the natural order, this was so because of its racial nature. It’s simply the place of the lesser races to be guided by their betters, and in exchange to serve them with their labor.

This situation presented me with a moral dilemma. My new realm would need the agricultural produce of this lush region, but the current system involved a labor arrangement that I found abhorrent. I did not see an easy way to replace these slaves with people of a lesser race more suited to that station.

Given the choice, I would have to abolish slavery in the Myrish lands, at least for those of the white race, and set up the current slave population as small free-holding yeoman farmers. Such people had been the backbone of Southern society, the finest civilization my world has ever known, and had fought valiantly in the ranks of the Army of Northern Virginia and indeed all of the Confederacy’s armies.

That would cause a great deal of economic and social disruption, and make the magisters and their supporters into unrelenting enemies. I supposed I would have to have them killed, though as they seemed to add little value to the world around them that should be a small loss. Perhaps I would warn Horo Stassen to divest himself of his slaves before my return.

“Orange Cat,” Pono called across to my other companion, interrupting my musings. “Why such a strange name?”

“Each day Unsullied take a new name,” the eunuch answered in his high-pitched voice. “Chosen from a jar. Always a color and the name of some type of vermin, to remind Unsullied that we are the lowest of the low.”

He considered cats to be vermin? I’d always liked them. When we settled down to rule, I would want at least one cat of my own.

“You are a slave?” Pono asked the Unsullied.

“All Unsullied are slaves.”

“What were you,” Pono continued, “before becoming a slave?”

“A child,” Orange Cat said. “This one has little memory of the time before training.”

“You have a Dothraki look.”

“This one may have been Dothraki,” Orange Cat said. “Many Unsullied begin as Dothraki.”

“Dothraki are not slaves,” Pono said. “But free men. The freest of all men.”

He thought for a few moments, unsettled by the Unsullied.

“Khal John,” he finally said, “it is unseemly to ask Dothraki to fight alongside slaves. It is not okay.”

He felt this deeply; I could not brush away his disquiet or simply order him to accept things as they stood.

“I can’t send them away,” I said. “We need them to train our crawlers. And they’re the finest infantry of Essos. We want them on our side.”

“You can free them,” Daenerys said, the first words I had heard her speak in front of other men. She spoke Bastard Valyrian, as did Orange Cat and Pono. Perhaps some of the Dothraki women did as well. I would have to ask Irri. “It’s within your power. And they will love you for it.”

“Free them,” I mused aloud. “Orange Cat, what would you do if freed?”

“This one does not wish to be freed,” he said. “No Unsullied are free. Unsullied are made to fight for their masters.”

“You could still fight for me,” I said. “But by your choice, not because I hold your whip.”

“The khaleesi seeks to assist this one,” he said. “This one understands and is grateful. But it is no kindness, Khaleesi. This one knows only service. It is . . .”

“Comforting?” I supplied the word from his thoughts.

“Yes, comforting, to know one’s place every day. It is the only way that this one has ever known.”

“A soldier knows his place every day,” I said. “But he fights for what he believes, not because he is forced.”

I recalled the young conscripts sent to the Army of Northern Virginia in the war’s last days. Too young to shave, so young that some carried a favorite bedtime stuffed toy in their pack. Too young to have any system of belief beyond following a brightly-colored flag and a stirring drumbeat. But not too young to die, shitting their lives away from dysentery or crying for their mothers as a gut wound slowly took them.

“The crawlers do not fight for belief,” Pono pointed out, as though he were the one who could read thoughts rather than I. “They also are forced. They are nearly slaves.”

“It’s that way the world over,” Mormont said from behind us. “Men of Westeros fight because it’s their lord’s will. Men who fight by choice, for coin, are scorned for it.”

“The crossbowmen of Myr don’t trouble you?” I asked Pono. “Or the Black Stripes?”

“They fight by choice,” he said. “A poor choice, to fight for gold they can’t eat or fuck. But still, a choice. They are not slaves.”

To pay all of the soldiers I believed we would need, we would need a great deal of coin. And as Horo Stassen had said, that quantity of coin was best raised through the sale of captives into slavery. Pono did not object to such sales, nor would the other Dothraki: they had done so for centuries, and often sold other Dothraki though they termed these transactions “gifts.”

“Very well,” I said. “We’ll enroll the Unsullied and the new recruits as regular paid soldiers. They’ll swear an oath to follow me, obey the commands of my officers, and remain loyal unto death.”

“Unsullied will not understand,” Orange Cat objected.

“Will they do so?” I asked.

“They will follow your command,” he said. “But in their hearts, they will remain your slave.”

“That,” I asked, Pono, “will satisfy the Dothraki?”

He thought for a moment.

“What is in a man’s heart,” he finally said, “is between that man and whatever god he follows.”

He looked across to Orange Cat.

“You will fight for Khal John, once you are free?”

“This one will serve Khal John.”

“You’ll take a new name? Your old Dothraki name?”

“This one does not remember this one’s child name,” Orange Cat said. “This one will remain Orange Cat.”

“There’s nothing,” Pono persisted, “that will change?”

“A dog,” Orange Cat said. “This one wishes to have a dog. Young Unsullied are given a young dog, at the time when they are cut. For one year, Unsullied care for the dog. At the end of the year, Unsullied strangle the dog, or they are killed.”

He paused, and looked away from Pono.

“This one misses his dog.”

“You said, ‘his dog’,” Pono noted. “When Khal John has freed you, I will gift to you a dog, freely given from one free man to another.”

* * *

I directed Mormont to begin enrolling the Unsullied as enlisted soldiers, but he wrote slowly and painfully, and we had no literate assistants to assign him other than Doreah. While she was fluent and literate in both Bastard Valyrian and Westerosi, I did not believe it a wise idea to assign her to work with Mormont. I had acquired her for her woman’s parts, not her mind. Even so, until I could find someone better suited to the job I tasked her with copying Unsullied contracts and keeping notes of staff meetings, as Mormont’s hand was simply too slow and I wished to hear his advice. In fairness, I must say that she wrote accurately and in a beautiful hand.

Two days after leaving Myr, Pono’s outriders reported an armed force marching southward. After listening to several of them, I formed a notion of the unknown army’s location and identity. A mercenary company about 2,000 strong, all mounted and most of them armored; Lodovico of the Black Stripes identified them as the Latecomers.

We had an opportunity to place ourselves across their path, and I ordered Pono to do so immediately with his khas. I would discuss surrender terms at that point; should these be rejected then Jhaqo would strike them in their right flank.

“We could strike without warning,” Jhaqo said. “And slaughter them as they march.”

“Were things otherwise,” I said, “I would agree. These men who fight for pay include experienced soldiers and leaders. I wish to add them to our own army.”

I looked at Lodovico. In early middle age, he had come late to soldiering after failing at politics. I did not yet fully trust him, but he had as yet given no cause for complaint, either.

“How good are they?” I asked.

“Not very,” he said. “At least that’s their reputation. They’re funded by a group of Tyroshi merchants, as a business venture. The rumor is that they cut costs on weapons, armor and quality of their recruits and officers. I don’t know that first-hand; I’ve never encountered them.”

“Your suggestion?”

“A show of force,” he said. “They’re not out here for glory, and there’s no profit in being overrun by a horde of Dothraki. Take their surrender, add them to our army, either as a company or broken up among us.”

“Break them up,” Jhaqo said after Pono had translated. “They cannot be trusted together.”

I nodded.

“Ko Aggo,” I said. “Ride hard and block the road behind them. When he is in place, Ko Jhaqo, show yourself on their right flank. Ko Pono, block the road ahead. Lodovico, with me. Unsullied, Black Stripes and Myrmen cover the trains.”

All nodded and rode off to their assignments. I ordered two hundred of my Companions to protect their khaleesi, and rode alongside Pono to join his khas in blocking the road. My own khas of 700 Companions occupied the actual roadway, with Pono’s men on either side of them.

Their outriders approached about an hour later, and quickly rode back to the main body. I sat my horse with Pono, Lodovico and a ko of the Companions named Rakharo to await their leader. He rode up flanked by two other armored men, both younger than he. A red-faced and somewhat overweight and balding white man, he did not seem to recognize his peril.

“You savages are blocking the road,” he said. “Get the fuck out of our way.”

“You’re most observant,” I said. “But we won’t be moving.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Your men, your horses, your weapons. Any of your officers I find useful. You, I don’t need.”

“Are you looking for a fight?”

I saw the Dothraki on Pono’s left raise signal flags, indicating that Jhaqo had reached his position.

“My Dothraki would like one,” I said. “I’d rather have your men. But if you want them killed, that can be arranged.”

“My men will run through yours like steel through butter,” he said, seeming even angrier. “And I’ll be sure to kill you first.”

“You have, what, two thousand men? I have forty thousand Dothraki. You might kill a few of them, that’s true. They understand that, it’s their way. But they’ll kill all of yours. That’s also their way.”

“I won’t surrender without a fight.”

“Then fight me,” I said. “You’ll have your fight, and your men will live to serve me. Everyone wins.”

He drew his sword and spurred his horse straight at me, while Demon leapt to meet him. I drew Steel Flame and took off his sword-arm as he passed. He remained in the saddle, blood running down the side of his body and his horse.

“You should have surrendered,” I said. I ran him through, and snatched his cloak to clean my blade before he fell to the ground.

“You’re his lieutenants?” I asked the two remaining horsemen. Both nodded. “Have all of your men dismount and stack their arms and armor.”

* * *

I assigned the former Latecomers to Orange Cat, who spread them throughout his new recruits under the eye of his Unsullied. As I expected, Lodovico soon approached me with his own ideas on use of this new manpower. I invited him to join me at breakfast, where my princess sat at table with Orange Cat.

“My queen,” Lodovico bowed, and kissed my wife’s hand. “It is truly a pleasure to become acquainted.”

“I’m not queen yet, my lord,” she said. “For any aid you provide toward that end, I will remain eternally grateful.”

“It would be my honor,” the mercenary captain said.

“Lodovico,” I said. “I’m a plain-spoken man, as you’ve seen. Tell me your wishes, plainly.”

He nodded, and sipped his coffee.

“As you say,” he said. “It’s my hope to incorporate at least some of the former Latecomers into the Black Stripes. The more promising younger men, those with good horses and armor who haven’t taken on all the bad habits of their unfortunate late commander.”

“How many?”

“Perhaps two hundred? I’d prefer not to dilute the essence of my own company with too many of them.”

“I’d prefer,” I said. “To form a single heavy cavalry brigade, of perhaps fifteen hundred to two thousand men, incorporating your former Black Stripes with the new recruits.”

“Former Black Stripes?”

“Surely you’ve seen that free companies no longer have a place in the new order I’m bringing to Essos.”

He had indeed wondered about the future of his trade, but had invested both a great deal of personal wealth and his own self-regard in his company.

“I would make it well worth your while,” I said. “In both monetary terms, and those of personal achievement. Your officers as well.”

“You don’t seem to have a great deal of coin.”

“You ride with forty thousand Dothraki,” I said. “Do you doubt their ability to collect loot?”

“No,” he said. “Nor do I doubt their ability to eradicate my company, should you so order.”

“That would be wasteful,” I said. “I hope it will not be necessary.”

“Your terms?”

“For the men? Fair pay, a five-year enlistment, fully subject to my officers and my laws. Officers will be selected by me, and also receive regular pay over a five-year term. Both classes will be paid at a higher rate than currently.”

“You can afford this?”

“The Dothraki despise money. The Unsullied reject it. We should be well able to afford them.”

“And for myself?”

“We’ll negotiate a purchase of your ownership interests in the Black Stripes. And then you’ll enjoy the same arrangement as other officers, at a higher rate of pay of course given your higher status.”

He leaned back, sipping coffee and considering.

“There will be further rewards?”

“As in lands and titles?” I confirmed what I already knew from his thoughts.

“Just so.”

“Of course,” I said. “Serve me well and you’ll find me generous to my friends. That’s the only promise of such I offer. Serve poorly, and you’ll find yourself carrying a lance in the ranks. Or worse.”

Actually, if he proved himself incompetent, I would likely have to kill him rather than leave him to become a focus of discontent. So far, his thoughts had seemed to indicate that he well knew his trade.

Jhaqo had been correct, and I took a risk by allowing all of the former mercenaries to serve together in the same unit. I would need to confirm every officer appointment myself, after an extensive interview assisted by telepathy, and keep watch on the ranks for disloyal thoughts.

* * *

Orange Cat’s Unsullied had taken to their new role as drill instructors with more determination than I had expected or desired. I watched as they force-marched the former bravos, criminals and Latecomers at a quick-march pace, beating those who fell out without permission. Spotting me, Orange Cat and his second, Green Roach, trotted over to me on foot to report.

“Green Roach,” I greeted the dark-skinned and rather fat Unsullied. I had insisted that all of the Unsullied retain the same name every day. “Orange Cat has told you of your new status as free men?”

“This one has been told,” he confirmed. “This one has signed papers as you wish.”

“And that’s your own wish?” I asked; his thoughts gave no hint.

“Your wish is this one’s wish,” Green Roach said. His thoughts showed no preference between slave or free status.

“Very well,” I said. “It is also my wish that our new recruits remain alive to become soldiers.”

“These ones are soft,” Orange Cat said. “They must be hardened. Some Unsullied as well. Then they will work with weapons.”

“Your thoughts, Green Roach?”

“This one agrees with this one’s commander.”

“Green Roach,” I said. “I am your commander. I must have full information. If you believe differently, I must hear it.”

“This one does not believe differently.”

His thoughts confirmed his words.

“Thank you,” I said. “Should you ever believe differently, on any issue, it is your duty to inform Orange Cat of this. Do you understand?”

“This one understands.”

“Orange Cat,” I turned to the taller Unsullied. “How long until weapons training? An estimate if you’re not sure.”

“Perhaps ten days. Some will be lost before then. Those that remain, will be better for it.”

I had heard from comrades who attended West Point that in order to make an efficient soldier, the recruit must first be broken down and then built up. I could not seem to recall just what I had done before leaving my small plantation to enroll in the Black Horse Cavalry, but I understood the principle well enough. But I shared Jorah Mormont’s concern that we not waste lives without purpose.

“Please try to keep all of them alive,” I said. “If any prove incapable, Jorah the Andal will find other tasks for them. They cannot perform these tasks if they’re dead.”

“It will be as you say,” both men said in unison.

* * *

At dawn the next morning, I found Cayle already awake and dressed for our “sword practice.” Each day after I had made love to her I did actually instruct her in sword technique, which remained weak though she had shown some improvement. But this morning she stopped me before we headed to the corral.

“John,” she said, placing a hand on my arm. “We’re . . . we’re out of moon tea.”

“Moon tea?”

“It’s not my fault.”

“What is it? This moon tea.”

“We drink it, Doreah and I, to prevent . . . prevent a child forming after we fuck you. So your seed won’t take hold. All . . . all whores drink it. She brought a jar of it from Pentos, the mixture that she brews with boiling water. It’s used up now.”

“Then find some more.”

“I can’t,” she said. “It’s not my fault. I’m not even . . . even sure what’s in it, just that it comes from Westeros. Some sort of dried flowers and herbs.”

“Doreah has none?”

“She gave it to . . . to me. I love you but I don’t want a baby, John. You . . . you don’t want one, either.”

She did want my child, desperately so, calculating that I wouldn’t abandon the mother of my own son or even daughter. She imagined herself as my wife, as my queen, but wisely said nothing aloud. She had considered lying to me and attempting to become with child, but feared that Doreah would expose her out of spite. She was probably right about Doreah, but at least my angry yet lovely slave had prevented any unwanted pregnancies.

“I still need release,” I said. “It’s my right, as your khal and as your owner.”

“I . . . I can still please you. With my tongue or . . . or with my ass.”

“I will not be doing that,” I said, repulsed by the very thought. In my Confederate service, I had executed soldiers for performing this act upon one another.

“Then . . . then let me suck you off. I . . . I love you. Let me show you.”

She took my hand and led me to the center of the herd. She had never wondered why they so conveniently screened us from the sight of others, nor made any move to trample us. Finding a tuft of grass not fouled by waste, she knelt before me and pulled down my Dothraki trousers. She played her tongue along my manhood, and I must admit that I found it pleasurable. When I grew close to finishing, she took me in her mouth to swallow my seed, but I told her “no.” My seed sprayed across her face as she looked up at me and smiled.

Leaving Calye to clean herself, I returned to my tent and my khaleesi. She had risen and had the household slaves prepare the breakfast table. I had expected Syrello Ormaar of the Myrish crossbowmen to join us to discuss expanding his brigade and forming units of pikemen, but she had sent him away with her apologies.

“My chieftain,” she said. “At my request, Irri brought a Dothraki healing woman to see me this morning.”

“You are unwell?” I asked, growing alarmed.

“I am very well,” she said. “Both of us are very well.”

I detected her meaning in her thoughts; otherwise I would have had not a clue.

“My princess,” I said, “you carry our child?”

“The healing woman believes that I do,” she said. “Does it not please you?”

I stepped to her side of the breakfast table and knelt beside her.

“More than words can say, my princess.”

And I was deeply pleased, though in the back of my mind something made me feel as though such news had not always been welcome to me. Now I would have an heir to my empire. Our empire.

However, I would have to cease making love to my princess, so as not to harm our child. I would have even greater need for Calye and Doreah. Soon after breakfast, I sent Dothraki dispatch riders to Illyrio and to Horo Stassen with instructions to obtain more of this “moon tea” with all possible speed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter faces the dosh khaleen.


	29. Chapter Twenty-One (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tansy reads a story to Dejah Thoris.

Chapter Twenty-One (Dejah Thoris)

I felt stronger with each passing day. Jory took us riding along swamp trails; Lord Reed set his warriors to watching over us. Had I not been able to track their thoughts, I do not know that I would have seen any of them. They had mastered the arts of camouflage, though despite a lifetime in the swamps they detested burying themselves in the cold water and muck.

“You have seen the swamp men guarding us?” I asked Jory one morning as we saddled our horses. Trisha saddled a horse as well.

“Sometimes,” Jory said. “I take it they’re always there?”

“Yes. Lord Reed is careful of his guests’ safety. And very interested in how they spend their time.”

“Can anyone sneak up on you?”

I looked at Trisha, whose back was turned to us.

“You can trust her,” Jory said. “She helped watch over you. I trust her with my life.”

Trisha turned back to us. She was almost as tall as I, a pretty woman with straight dark red hair and the small spots known as “freckles” across her face and the visible part of her neck and upper chest. She smiled.

“You can, princess,” she said, in her voice suited more to a girl than a woman, what Tansy would later call “bubbly.” “Lady Mormont’s orders.”

Her thoughts said she respected me as a fighting woman like herself. I nodded to her and smiled, then looked back at Jory.

“Not if I concentrate,” I said, “but it takes a great deal of concentration to search for hidden people only by their thoughts. And I am sometimes easily distracted.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“I am extremely focused in battle,” I said, catching her sarcasm as I swung into the saddle. “That is a greater reason for my success than strength or speed. When I am not fighting, my mind becomes filled with many other thoughts.”

“Mine too,” Jory smiled. “Except on horseback. Then it’s like I don’t have any thoughts of my own.”

We rode down the swamp trails through hanging vines, our horses’ hooves cracking through the frozen puddles that dotted the way. When we drew alongside a hidden swamp warrior, I called to my companions to stop.

“You can ride with us if you would prefer,” I said, knowing how the man suffered in the freezing water.

“Our lord won’t permit it, milady,” he said. “He’ll be angry enough that you spotted me.”

“Thank you for watching over us,” I said, and we rode on. As Jory had said, we could not bring the horses to anything more than a trot, but I relished getting back on my horse again.

“Did you train your mare yourself?” Jory asked.

“She trained me,” I said. “I had seen pictures of horses, drawn by my husband, but knew little about them. I first learned about horse care and riding from her thoughts. Sometimes she lies.”

“Like what?”

“She would have me believe she should only eat carrots, never wear a saddle and never have her hooves picked out. Tansy taught me how to actually care for horses.”

“Do horses think the way people do?” Jory asked. “Are they smart?”

“That is complicated,” I said. “They are intelligent in their own way. They know a great deal about the things that matter to them, and think about these things more emotionally than we do. They do not think about things that do not matter to them, which is very different than people. They know that there are stars in the night sky, for one example, but they do not care.”

“Do they read thoughts?” Tansy had caught up and rode behind us alongside Trisha. “Sometimes they seem to just, you know, know.”

“Not the way a telepath does,” I said, “a thought-reader like me. They can feel the emotions of people and if they know the person well can feel the outlines of what the person wishes of them.”

“What about dogs?” Jory wondered.

“I do not know. I have had little experience with dogs. The foul being known as ‘cat’ can read and send thoughts, and attempts to enslave humans.”

“I think she just hates cats,” Tansy told Jory. “Some people do, you know.”

“I do not like cats,” I said. “You should be wary of them as well.” 

* * *

After I had been on my feet for several days, Lyra took me to the castle’s practice yard and handed me a wooden sword. She had changed her hair to a single heavy braid, and given me a soldier’s tunic to wear with an emblem of a swamp reptile on it. I would have preferred to practice without it, but remembered her admonition to remain modest out of respect for Lord Reed.

“On your guard,” she said.

I slid to my left and parried Lyra’s attack; nothing seemed out of place. I shifted the wooden sword into my left hand and struck at her, feeling no pain from her parry. Eager to test my limits, I quickly spun inside her guard and tapped her left breast with the wooden sword.

“I have killed you,” I said. The words bothered me even as I spoke them; I had quickly come to like Lyra very much and disliked even pretending to bring about her death.

“I never saw it coming.”

“The spin move hides the blade.”

“I don’t think I can spin fast enough,” she said, “to try that without getting skewered.”

“It is not for everyone.”

“How do you counter it?”

I showed her, and worked with her every day on improving her stance and blade movement. She had been trained by men to fight like a man, and taken to the lessons well. But women are not men; they are stronger in the upper body and we in the lower. The differences are subtle, but a woman should use her advantages and not fight exactly the same way as a man.

With my enhanced strength I could now fight like a man, but all of my experience lay in the female style and I had retained it in all of my battles since arriving here. I could probably overpower most if not all of my opponents, but I could not be sure of this where I was very confident that none could match the speed of my foot- or blade-work. It is always an advantage to show your enemy moves that he or she does not expect; in Westeros few women fight and those that do, like Lyra or Brienne, fight in the same way as a man and count on their unusual size to make up for the difference in physical strength.

I taught Lyra some standard moves of Barsoom that would maximize her strengths and compensate for weaknesses, and we also practiced the style of fighting as a pair, something I had missed since leaving my home. She proved very adept and eager to learn, and as she almost exactly matched my height and size we made a formidable team. We could not employ the full paired style, as Lyra could not read my thoughts, but since she knew that I could read hers she practiced alerting me of her intentions. That allowed us to make use of at least some of the paired tactics, and I knew that we could be very effective fighting together.

Trisha often joined us, and sometimes she and I worked alone. The red-haired soldier preferred to hone her individual fighting skills, to better protect Jory. She feared that Jory would try to fight alongside her, as did I. And so I worked with Trisha almost as often as I did with Lyra, and saw her speed and discipline improve markedly. She had apparently depended on what she called her “wild She-Bear’s rage” in battle. While she would willingly die to defend her charge, I liked Trisha and did not wish for this to happen.

“You are not happy here,” I observed to her as we sat alone at the edge of the training yard, cleaning our weapons. “You wished to fight.”

“I was six-and-ten when I came to the House Guard,” she said. “Ten years ago. I pledged my life to the Mormonts, and they’ve been worthy lords. When we heard Lady Dacey had been killed, and I wasn’t there . . .”

“You know that I am a princess,” I said. She nodded. “I have known many soldiers and known this guilt in them and in myself. I will not tell you that it is nothing, only that it will fade in time.”

“I’m not sure I want it to,” she said. “I failed one Mormont daughter. I won’t fail again.”

“You did not fail,” I said. “Your duty brought you here. We do not get to choose where duty leads us.”

She stared at her already-shining sword and rubbed it harder, not believing or looking at me.

“Listen to me,” I said, using the command voice I had rarely deployed since leaving Barsoom. Her head snapped up and her dark blue eyes met my red ones. “You know that I read thoughts. And I am telling you that no one, not Maege Mormont, not her daughters, blames you for what happened to Dacey Mormont. That foolish lie exists solely within your own mind.”

“Yes ma’am,” she said, reflexively. And then she smiled.

* * *

Rains fell heavily for many days afterwards; the very idea of water falling out of the sky still fascinated me, but Lord Reed cautioned me to stay out away from the rain lest my fever return. Seeing my disappointment, Tansy led me to the castle’s bathhouse, a wooden structure adjacent to the main hall divided into separate areas for men and women. Since we could not train outside or ride, I looked forward to feeling warm water on my skin. Lord Reed had instructed that I could only bathe with wet cloths until my wound had healed sufficiently, and I felt very dirty.

Lyra had just entered the bathhouse when we arrived, and she helped Tansy fill a large basin that could comfortably accommodate all three of us. They then helped me into the water, though I felt fully capable of handling myself even on the wet wooden floors. I water felt wonderful on my skin, the first time I had enjoyed such since we had left Duskendale.

“Your body . . . it’s perfect.” Lyra seemed amazed. I felt unexpected pleasure at the thought of Lyra Mormont admiring my breasts, but soon realized that she did not refer to my appearance.

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” Tansy said, thinking to agree.

“No,” Lyra said. “I mean, yes, Dejah, you’re lovely. But outside of the wound Lord Reed treated, you have no scars at all. To have so obviously fought in many battles and emerge untouched . . . it’s uncanny.”

She rose part of the way clear of the bath water to show her own torso. She was extremely fit and extremely pale, with large full breasts that I very much wished to touch. One by one, she pointed to scars from assorted fights, mostly slashes but two ugly puncture wounds, and described how she had acquired them. I understood this to be a bonding ritual between soldiers; we behave similarly on Barsoom.

“The worst,” she said, indicating the center of her chest, “should be right here. A wildling spearwife’s bone spear-point. It caught in my chainmail and the point snapped off. It left an ugly bruise and it hurt like all the hells, but it faded in time.”

I scanned the bathhouse with my telepathy; no one could hear us.

“Speak of this to no one,” I said; both of my friends nodded. “I am not sure that I have even told Tansy all of this. I am not from a faraway land. I am from a completely different world. One of those you can see in the night sky, impossibly far from here.”

“Lord Reed said something of this,” Lyra said. “When you were babbling as though you were mad. Mostly you made strange whistling sounds instead of actual words.”

“Those are the words of my language,” I said. “I do not know how I came to this world, only that I appeared here in the forest, with no clothing, weapons or belongings. My body had been made far faster and stronger than it had been. And all of its scars,” I indicated several places, “had disappeared, as well as a decorative tattoo on my left breast.”

“I knew you were made stronger,” Tansy said. “I suppose I thought you’d always looked like that.”

“I did look like this,” I said. “I once suffered injuries that marred the beauty of my face and breasts, but at John Carter’s insistence a highly skilled healer removed them and restored my beauty. My people have far greater knowledge in this area than yours.

“He did not remove other, less visible scars. Yet upon my arrival those marks of old injuries, and only those caused by injuries, had disappeared. Very small shadows where injuries had been repaired in the past, before my arrival here, likewise are no longer visible. This mark on my leg has been there since I hatched, and yet it remains.”

“Hatched?” Lyra asked.

“The women of my people lay eggs,” I said. “We do not carry our young inside our bodies. This is why I have no navel marking, either.

“I did bear scars of fighting on my home world, which we call Barsoom. I have been fortunate to have suffered no serious wounds here, until Black Walder stabbed me in the back.”

“So,” Lyra smiled, settling back into the water, “you’re not invulnerable.”

“I am very good at killing people,” I said. “But I am under no illusion that I myself cannot be killed.”

* * *

Each day that I exercised, I felt stronger than the last. Soon I sparred against both Lyra and Trisha together. Their skills improved by the day, but so did mine. I felt ready to fight and had a strange sensation that I would soon do so with a great deal at stake.

I did not look forward to entering combat again, but like Trisha, Lyra had apparently felt somewhat ashamed of hiding at Greywater Watch while other members of her family fought and died. She hoped that I would remain with House Mormont, and the thought tempted me greatly. I enjoyed her company very much and when Jory offered to braid my hair into a single heavy rope like Lyra’s, I gladly accepted. It had grown much longer since my arrival on this planet, and seemed to grow much faster than it had on Barsoom. Jory cut off the ends which had become rather tattered, using a sharp blade called a razor.

“Do you enjoy fighting?” I asked Lyra one day after we finished our swordplay. She mopped her face with a cloth, but we of Barsoom do not sweat.

“I enjoy my time out here with you,” she said. “Or do you ask about actual combat?”

“The latter.”

She sat on a sawed-off piece of a dead tree and thought about her answer for a moment. I sat next to her, while Trisha returned to the keep in search of dry clothes; in my enthusiasm, I had hurled her into a dirty puddle. She had almost called me a rude name, but caught herself before the words were uttered.

“Yes and no,” Lyra said. “I don’t like the terror. The killing, the fear of being killed, having to see people you’ve known for your entire life bleeding theirs out into the mud and the shit. It’s awful.

“But it’s not right to say that I hate it, either. Or at least it’s not honest. I suppose I like having fought, as opposed to fighting. The feeling that I’ve fulfilled my role as a Mormont woman. That I defended our people, that I fulfilled my oaths, my family’s oaths. That part is very satisfying.

“And you?”

I took a place beside her on the dead tree.

“Like you,” I said, “I was raised to fight. And for some of the same reasons. We have vast privileges, the royal family, and sometimes we pay for them with our deaths. On my home world, I fought and I killed, with swords and with more powerful weapons unknown here.”

Something that should have been obvious before now became clear.

“You know that I can read others’ thoughts.”

She nodded.

“And that’s why you can’t be beaten,” she said.

“It helps greatly,” I allowed, “I will not deny it. But a good fighter, like yourself, makes decisions instinctively. They come so fast that your opponent’s thoughts give you their plan for the fight beforehand, but much less help when swords actually cross.

“We can screen our thoughts from others like us. And at no time is that more important than during battle. You cannot give your foe any warning of what you intend.”

“And?”

“On my home world, I usually could not feel an enemy’s thoughts while she died.”

“And here you’ve felt them all die.”

She wanted to say something comforting, but knew that no platitude could help. Instead she laced her fingers through mine and sat quietly beside me, holding my hand.

I liked Lyra Mormont very much.

* * *

After Mid-Day Meal I usually rested, following Lord Reed’s instructions, with Tansy looking after me. She sat upright in our bed and read to me while I enjoyed the heat of the nearby fire, driving away the chill damp that pervaded all of Greywater Watch. I could not read the letters of this place, and Tansy went through several volumes of adventure stories. Many of them had rather cold-blooded outcomes, by my estimation; if these were the stories on which Arya Stark had been raised, her murderous outlook on the world now made far more sense.

It did not escape me that in some ways I had regressed into a child-like state, thanks to my injury and the mental confusion that had accompanied my fever, and had taken the place of Arya in Tansy’s life. And that I had wanted to take that place. I had been jealous of the girl, though at the time I had not wished to admit this to myself. Tansy had not been entirely wrong to be unhappy with my attitude.

That awareness tempered my enjoyment of my sister’s attention. Even so, I lay beside her and listened to her melodious voice tell of an extremely tall knight who wandered the countryside committing deeds of bravery. I noticed that in these stories, great height seemed to symbolize great fighting skills; in practice, I have seen that an unusually tall warrior is actually much more vulnerable to attack. This tall warrior was accompanied by a lesser warrior with the incongruous name of “Egg,” who eventually became the “king,” what these people called a jeddak. On Barsoom, such a label is used for a deeply naïve person, but I knew that “Egg” lacked the same meaning among people who did not hatch from eggs.

The tall knight fell in love with a tall, beautiful young woman named Tanselle who painted puppets, but she left him rather than see him killed in a trial by combat against a man who had beaten her. The knight later searched for Tanselle but never found her.

“Are you Tanselle?”

“It’s just a story,” my sister smiled. “The characters in a story aren’t based on real people. Well, sometimes they are, usually awful people who die in some horrible or ridiculous fashion. But I’m named for my mother’s grandmother Tanith, not for the Tanselle from the story.”

Tansy was beautiful enough to be the heroine of an adventure story, but not nearly old enough to be the Tanselle of the story, had she been real. Tansy stroked my hair as she read, and I felt very safe alongside her. Perhaps I could find some reason to remain at Greywater Watch with my sister and the Mormonts; I certainly had no deep desire to leave this place and find my wandering husband. Perhaps my husband would perish in a great fire, like the wandering knight in Tansy’s story. I did not think that I would mind this outcome for John Carter, but I was sad that the wandering knight never found the lovely Tanselle.

In her beautiful voice, Tansy then sang a song about a woman named Jenny who had loved a prince with the same name as the wandering knight; her love died in the same fire as the knight. I thought it rather careless storytelling to use the same name for two important characters in the same story, but Tansy assured me that the story was true. She had learned the song from the musician named Tom, whose head I had cut off, but I did not regret killing him as his death had pleased Tansy.

“Does she see ghosts?” I asked. “Or are they in her mind?”

“That’s for you to ponder, sweetling. That’s the art behind the song.”

“What do you think?”

“Memories are like ghosts,” she said. “They haunt you. Sometimes you wish they’d go away, and yet you cling to them, all at the same time.”

Kajas. She was a ghost; the memory pained me, would pain me for the thousand years of my lifespan, yet I would never wish it to leave me.

“I understand,” I said. “Do you have ghosts as well?”

“I do,” she said, kissing my forehead. “I surely do.”

* * *

Over the days that followed, Lyra, Trisha and I worked together every morning after going through the daily exercises with Tansy and Jory. I felt fully healed; I could use my left arm with no twinges or weakness. I enjoyed the time with Lyra, and knew that Tansy often visited Maege or tended the horses with Jory while we practiced. She would never recover from Arya’s death; no one ever truly does so. But Maege had been a mother to five women of this society and knew better than I how to address such deep and personal pain without the aid of telepathy. I felt a small degree of guilt for passing this task to Maege and allowing Tansy to tend to my emotional needs, but my sister did not seem to blame me for doing so and at least outwardly Tansy began to seem more like herself.

I had started to become restless when Lord Reed invited my sister and I to dine with him, his wife, the Mormonts and Lord Galbart Glover. I had not yet met Lord Glover, a large, brown-haired and friendly man who apparently had also been injured and treated by Howland Reed. We exchanged apologies for our simple clothing while servants brought out an opening course.

Tansy, having been a courtesan, knew proper table etiquette and kept watch over me with silent instructions. I thought that I maneuvered through the preliminary small talk and the soup quite well, the odd habit of eating soup with a spoon instead of drinking it directly from the bowl notwithstanding. It felt very comfortable acting in concert with my sister again. This was not, she explained, a true formal dinner as we wore the simple brown dresses Lyra had gifted us and the Mormonts wore their green family tunics and tight black leggings. I enjoyed the food, even the meat of the amphibian creatures known as “frogs” that repelled Tansy and the Mormonts. Since I found all edible animals here to be odd, I could not understand what made frogs stranger than lobsters, chickens or sheep. I had eaten far more disgusting creatures on my home world.

I had been seated between Lord Reed, who occupied a raised chair at the end of the long table, and Lord Glover, with Tansy across from me and Maege to her left. Lord Glover found me beautiful and seemed very interested in learning of my exploits in battle.

“Is it proper to ask you about the war?” I asked him in turn, during the break between courses. “I am very curious to learn of my husband.”

“No problem at all,” he said. “You are married?”

“Yes, my husband is named John Carter and commands the military forces of my city. I fear he is somewhere in Westeros, perhaps without his memory. He is a highly skilled commander and fearsome warrior, but suffered a brain injury and sometimes forgets his identity for a time.”

I was quite proud of that lie.

“You believe he may have participated in the fighting?”

“Fighting attracts him. If he is here, I am sure he would have ended up somehow involved in the war.”

“I’ve never heard the name,” Lord Glover said, “I’m sorry. What else would mark him?”

“He is a large man, tall and broad-shouldered with black hair and very pale skin. He is an exceptional swordsman, unusually fast and strong, unwilling to lie or to kill without need, but very deadly in combat.”

“Unwilling to lie. That would make it unlikely he fought for the Lannisters.”

“I am quite serious.”

“So am I,” Galbart Glover said. “All armies commit crimes against the common folk when soldiers get out of hand, as I’m sure you know.” He paused to see that I nodded. “The Lannisters order them as a matter of policy.”

“You are correct. He would not have participated in such, even without his memory.”

“No one such as you describe fought with us.” I looked at him with what I thought was a quizzical expression. “With King Robb of the North,” he clarified. “I’m sure I would have heard. King Robb collected the fiercest warriors for his personal guard.”

His voice faltered.

“I’m sorry, Lady Mormont,” he said to Maege, who was listening.

“Dacey was one of the king’s companions,” she explained. “There’s no need to walk on eggshells, Lord Glover. But thank you for the courtesy.”

I did not appreciate the egg-related metaphor, but gave no sign of my displeasure.

“If not with Robb or the Lannisters,” I asked instead, “might he have fought elsewhere?”

“Possibly with Stannis,” Lord Glover said. “The remnants of his army are in the North. Or the Tyrells, in the Reach.”

“The Reach?”

“Well to the southwest of here.”

“The enemies of Dorne,” I recalled.

“Correct, Princess,” he said. “Stannis holds fiercely to what he considers his code of honor; the Tyrells waver with the wind. There are also the Boltons in the North, but they may be worse than the Lannisters.”

“They murdered my sister’s friends.”

“That fails to surprise me,” he said. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lady Tansy.”

“Thank you,” she said. She did not mention that she actually blamed Catelyn Stark.

“You fought with King Robb?” I changed the subject.

“I did, until just before the Red Wedding. The king sent me north along with Lady Mormont and her daughters as a guard of honor for Ned Stark’s bones. I’d been wounded by a lance to the thigh and nearly drowned besides, so it was more of a command to rest and recover.”

“Dacey refused to leave Robb’s side,” Maege added. “Part of me wishes she’d come with us, part wishes I’d stayed.”

Lyra massaged her hand, while I detected deep grief from Galbart Glover. He made no outward sign, but he had held deep feelings for Dacey Mormont. I had refused Arya Stark’s request that I help kill this Frey family, but now I also wished all of them dead.

“My apologies,” Maege said, “I don’t wish to bring gloom to your table, Lord Reed.”

The servants were laying out the main course, a roasted meat that Lady Reed called “lizard-lion,” apparently a large swamp lizard. It was very tasty.

“You are going to the North?” I asked Lord Glover.

“I think that is a good introduction to the subject I wish to discuss,” Lord Reed interjected before Galbart Glover could answer. “I suspect that both Lord Glover and Lady Mormont will approve. I hope the Princess will aid us. I ask a tremendous favor.”

“I owe you my life,” I said. “I will help you however I can.”

“Thank you,” he said. “What I ask is no small thing. We march to war.”

Lord Reed explained that Sansa Stark, Arya’s sister, had gathered an army of Northern loyalists and allied with another army of knights from the land known as the Vale. They had defeated the troops of House Bolton and recaptured Winterfell. She now called on Howland Reed to gather his troops, drive the Bolton garrison out of a key fortress that controlled the road to the North, and join her at Winterfell.

“We will answer her call,” he said. “Lords Mormont and Glover have their own mission to complete, and I believe this will aid in yours as well, Princess.”

“You think John Carter can be found in the North?”

“I do not. You have a destiny to fulfill. It lies to the North.”

“We shall see,” I said. “What do you wish me to do?”

“I don’t know as yet. If you would ride with the Mormonts and be ready when we meet the enemy, that would be most appreciated.”

“I shall do so.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Lords Mormont and Glover have the bones of my friend, Ned Stark, to return to Winterfell. That carries enormous meaning for us, princess, to have the bones of our family interred in their ancestral home.”

“I understand. It does with us as well.”

This was only partially true; we do honor the remains of those who died in victorious combat. We leave the defeated for the scavengers. And John Carter had only recently ended the horrific suicidal sacrifice of many who had reached 1,000 years, only to be eaten by the depraved followers of the false goddess Issus. I did not think these tales would meet Tansy’s definition of pleasant dinner conversation.

“We also have the bones of Arya Stark,” Lord Reed continued, “which will be important to her sister. And her aunt.”

Tansy grasped my hand tightly across the table, but kept the expression on her face neutral.

“Normally only the Lords of Winterfell are buried in the crypts,” Lord Reed said, “but that is a choice for Lady Stark to make. We burned the body while you slept, as is our custom.”

“There are also our own children.” Lord Reed’s wife, Lady Jyana, spoke for the first time since our arrival at Greywater Watch.

“They are dead?” I asked, immediately regretting my words.

“No,” their father said. “Not yet, anyway. They went north to aid young Brandon Stark, following their own destiny. I regret allowing this, and would have them back.”

“I will help you,” I said impulsively.

“I have seen this,” he answered. “Thank you.”

Howland Reed then explained that we would march through the swamps, laying out his intentions for march routes, march order and provisioning – the usual arrangements for war. They seemed very similar to those I had helped prepare for Helium’s forces, though the reliance on animal transport made things much slower and gave less margin for error. I would get to ride with Jory and Lyra, which pleased me, though I resolved that I would find some reason to keep Jory with Tansy and away from any fighting. I knew without asking that Trisha would help me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, they should not have called her “bitch.”


	30. Chapter Twenty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris conquers the unconquerable.

Chapter Twenty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

Lord Reed had already called for his followers to join us at Greywater Watch, but still it took many days for his troops to gather. I continued to practice at swords and ride my horses, and when the swamp lord indicated that the time had come, I was ready to depart.

The swamp people had cleaned our clothing, even the blue and red bloodstains on my leather battle harness, and provided us with new cloaks and leggings more suitable to Northern weather and the simple brown dresses their women favored, though sized large enough to fit us. My sister and I wore loose gray riding leggings and loose grayish-green tunics with a picture of a swamp lizard embroidered on the front, the symbol of House Reed. The tunic billowed at the sleeves and extended to just below my ass; it cinched at the waist with a black rope-like belt. I did not like covering my body to such an extent, but at least the loose fit felt less restrictive than other clothing of these lands.

Most of our little army marched on foot or paddled in wide, very-shallow-draft boats. I rode my mare, with Tansy, Jory and Lyra on my other horses – the Mormonts had arrived by ship and had no horses of their own, though Lord Reed had provided a very fine mount for Maege and a much less fine one for Trisha. A guide led us across small pieces of solid ground but also had us wade through shallow watery swamp, explaining that deep bogs could swallow an entire horse and rider without much warning. This sounded extreme, but the man believed what he told me and had apparently seen it happen himself.

The weather had turned colder during our stay at Greywater Watch, and a thin layer of ice covered the swamp each morning. The Mormonts lent Tansy and me fur-lined cloaks to help repel the growing cold of the dusk and dawn hours, but I felt comfortable without mine. At night we camped on tiny bits of more or less dry ground, laying down waterproof sheets to keep the water pressed out of the soil by our weight from soaking us. For security reasons Lord Reed forbade fires at night and I continued to serve as bedwarmer for my sister, Lyra, Jory and occasionally her protector Trisha, and enjoyed the feel of their flesh against mine. On Barsoom we sleep in this fashion in the nursery; both men and women continue to enjoy this arrangement and I suppose it comforts us to pile together once again as adults. I slept deeply and well despite the pervasive dampness.

The crannogmen seemed to enjoy the march, while most of the men and women from the North looked to be quite miserable. Lord Reed’s soldiers brought us hot food and helped find dry campsites at each halting place; I knew these to be the sort of courtesies extended to noble women of these lands and did not mind accepting them. Their lord had told them that I had unusual powers of perception and great fighting skills, and they gladly helped me with the mundane details of swamp survival.

We made progress despite the harsh terrain and deteriorating weather, and after several days Lord Reed called a halt to confer with his commanders, summoning me to join them. He explained that we approached a decaying fortress known as Moat Cailin, though it had not had an actual moat - a ditch filled with water - for at least a century. He considered this a very formidable obstacle, but his greensight had told him that I held the key to its capture. What that key might be, I could offer no clue.

As Lord Reed described Moat Cailin, I came to understand that much of its strength rested on its reputation. Perhaps in the deep past it had been a formidable fortress, but now it consisted of three decaying stone towers from which archers and crossbowmen could loose projectiles at anyone coming up the elevated roadway from the south. Maege and Lord Glover had camped there while marching south with Robb Stark’s army, and confirmed that it had few intact walls or other fortifications.

I could think of several ways to attack the towers. We could set fire to the heavy wooden doors Maege described, or I could climb the tower at night and wreak havoc on the garrison from above. I would need to see this place to gain a better idea of what could be done, but I felt confident that we could capture such an old and decrepit location.

Early the next morning Lord Reed led a small group of us through the bogs amid the rising daylight; I could detect a few swamp warriors around us but no Bolton scouts. We reached the edge of the trees and crouched behind the large exposed root of one of the swamp trees, a root known as a “bole.”

A stone tower stood in front of us, leaning bizarrely toward the right. Lord Reed explained that it was known as the Drunkard’s Tower. From its fighting positions, even a small garrison armed with bows or crossbows could devastate any force trying to make their way up the causeway leading north.

I concentrated and found that it had a garrison; I counted 42 men within including two lookouts at its crest. Both had crossbows. Two more guards stood at the single, heavy door leading within the tower, and a fifth at a large window above them, with its heavy wooden shutters open.

Looking at the tower, I estimated that perhaps half of the garrison could aim their weapons at the causeway at once. I had little experience with their primitive weaponry, but understood that the archer whose pants I had stolen on first arriving here had been considered exceptionally skilled. He could probably loose an aimed shaft in six of what these people termed “seconds,” or ten per “minute.” That would equal perhaps 200 shafts per minute, or maybe 400 over the time it would take to rush the tower with our armored foot soldiers. Not all of the archers would be as expert.

Many of those arrows would miss their target while others would be deflected by shields or armor. My first impression had been correct: Moat Cailin depended on an outdated reputation. A determined attacker could certainly capture this place, were she willing to accept losses. Still, that meant that men and some women would die. Possibly including Lyra Mormont, or me. I did not wish for this to happen if I could avoid it.

Lyra crouched next to me behind the bole.

“You have been inside that tower?” I whispered.

“Yes. When we marched south.”

“It is in good condition?”

“Terrible,” she said. “Interior doors won’t close because the tower’s sagged. Takes four or five men to close and open the outer ones. Supports are collapsing and someone’s shored them up with added wood. There’s widespread rot in the floors and wooden support beams. Stones fall off of the top. That’s true for all three towers.”

We ducked back out of sight and I considered what I had learned. An idea formed, and I waved to Lord Reed to show that I wanted to discuss our plans. We retreated some distance back into the swamp, to a long-collapsed stone fortification where we could speak without giving away our position. I sat on a fallen pillar along with Lyra Mormont, Lord Reed and several soldiers from all three houses.

“There are 42 men within, most of them asleep,” I said. “Five guards on duty: two at the door, one right above, two on top of the tower.”

“What do you suggest?” Lord Reed asked.

I thought for a moment, and saw that one of the Mormont fighters, a man named Marsden, carried a war hammer.

“Might I use your hammer?” I asked him. He looked surprised, but handed it over. I stood and chose one of the fallen stones on the opposite side of the fallen wall, so that fragments would not strike my friends. I struck it with as powerful an overhead swing as I could muster; it shattered into several pieces.

The hammer did not seem damaged. I resumed my seat.

“May I use this against the tower?”

“Whatever you wish, Princess,” Marsden said. “I have a sword as well.”

“You plan to attack the tower itself?” Lord Reed asked.

“Yes,” I said. “There must be only a few keystones keeping the tower from collapse. I will slither through the mud to the tower, rise up and smash those stones. The angle is so steep that it does not appear that they can shoot at me from the tower.”

“They can pour out and attack you as soon as they feel the hammer blows,” Lyra pointed out.

“We will need help from the swamp bowmen,” I said. “They will need to suppress the Boltons trying to exit the tower.”

“That can be arranged,” Lord Reed said. “Would you not rather wait for nightfall?”

I thought on that suggestion.

“They do not know that we have arrived,” I said. “That leaves a full day for them to notice us. Let us attack now.” 

* * *

A short time later, Lyra had applied mud to my entire body, and stuck a few swamp plants into my harness. I felt very dirty, but I enjoyed her touch; as had happened at Harrenhal, the soldiers for their part enjoyed watching us. I gathered a number of extra daggers for throwing from the nearby fighters, plus a second war hammer in case the first broke under the strain. I reluctantly left my sword with Lyra.

Slowly, I slithered forward through the mud, keeping close watch on the thoughts of the guards on watch. When they looked away, I crawled forward a short distance. That slowed my advance, but eventually I had reached the low wall in front of the tower. I stretched my arms and legs, then waved to the waiting lords to signal my readiness.

The swamp warriors advanced out from their hidden positions, each bowman accompanied by another fighter, often a Mormont or Glover soldier, bearing a shield. When they started loosing arrows at the guards, I hefted both hammers, vaulted over the wall and raced to the tower’s overhang. I slipped twice on the damp ground, but did not fall. No one within saw me.

As Lyra had said, the tower had not seen repairs for years, perhaps decades. The sun rarely shone underneath the leaning structure, and the building stones were covered with small plant life and very wet. Much of the mortar had crumbled away over the years, and many of the stones had deep cracks within them.

I chose what seemed to be the central stone, rubbed my hands, and crashed the hammer into it with a level swing backed by as much power as I could muster. And that was quite a lot; the once-smooth stone immediately turned into fragments. The tower began to groan and lean over toward me; I prepared to strike it again but the structure had clearly begun to fall. For reasons I did not understand I snatched up the second hammer before I leapt out of the way and scrambled back over the broken wall. Again, no one within the tower saw me. I pressed my body tightly to the wet ground, inadvertently taking some mud into my mouth. I spat it out.

The tower’s garrison had other things on their mind than looking for me. A few tried to run out the door, only to be shot down by the swamp fighters’ arrows. Most succumbed to panic and ran about screaming, shouting and arguing. They went down with the tower, which fell across the road with a terrible crashing noise. I felt a powerful pulse race through the ground as the structure collapsed, then rose to admire the destruction I had wrought.

A massive cloud of dust shrouded the remains of the tower, which now thoroughly blocked the causeway leading north. No one had survived uninjured; several swamp fighters began to sort through the wreckage and finish off the wounded.

Lyra joined me, handing over my sword. I gratefully took it and slung the belt over my shoulder. I returned the war hammers and daggers to their owners, several of whom slapped me on the shoulder. Marsden gave me an animal skin filled with water, and I rinsed the muck out of my mouth.

“Impressive,” Lyra said.

“I only struck it once,” I said. “I do not think it would have lasted for much longer in any event.”

“I’m still impressed. Remind me not to anger you.”

“You could never do so.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said. “Let’s have a look at the other towers.”

The wreckage of the Drunkard’s Tower lay within range of the Bolton troops in the large structure known as the Gatehouse Tower, and now bolts and arrows began to land on the stones. Lyra and I climbed atop the small wall behind which I had sheltered, but advanced no further.

Panic had taken over the Gatehouse garrison, which numbered over 100 men. They continued to rain their projectiles on the corpses of their comrades and the ruins they had defended, and I could detect furious arguments under way within their fortification. Some held that the Drunkard’s Tower had collapsed of its own accord and they had nothing to fear; others claimed that they were faced with some new weapon and should withdraw immediately.

I knew that we needed to attack them, somehow, as quickly as possible before they calmed themselves. Yet I could not think of any means that would not result in my being shot full of arrows. I explained my thinking to Lyra.

“We have shields,” she said.

“The crossbow bolts will go through . . .” I heard my voice trail off as I lost that thought, my eyes fixed on the heavy wooden door that had once protected the Drunkard’s Tower.

“But they will not go through that,” I finished.

The rain of arrows had ceased, so I cautiously moved forward to pick up the door and bring it back behind the wall. It had thick bolts that I could grasp to hold it in place, and though heavy, I could heft it over my head. Lord Reed joined us as I shifted its weight to find the most comfortable angle.

“I will cross to the Gatehouse Tower under cover of this door,” I told him. “Advance your archers behind me as you feel best, but do not risk their lives without need. I will smash in the door to the tower and we will storm it before the Boltons have regained their wits.”

“I’m coming with you,” Lyra said, taking a spare shield and a heavy axe from a Mormont soldier. He slipped his own shield off his back and rose to follow.

“I would like that,” I told Lyra. “Stay under the door, you will not need that.”

“I will if they come out of the tower to shoot at us from ground level.”

I should have foreseen that problem myself. I nodded, and looked at the soldier.

“Jarack, princess,” he introduced himself. “Figure you’ll need cover from both sides.”

“That is very true,” I said. “Thank you.”

The three of us set out across open ground, very wet with some patches of deep mud. Arrows and bolts struck the top of the door, most of them bouncing off due to the angle but a few sticking. None came close to striking us.

I could not run while carrying our protective cover, but found a long-striding pace I could manage. Eventually a pair of enemy archers came out of our target’s heavy door and loosed arrows at us; I stopped so that my companions could cover us with their shields but both arrows went well wide of us. Their second shots were little better.

We reached the heavy doors to the tower just as the archers scrambled back inside and slammed them shut. Someone pulled open a small armored window in the door and pointed a crossbow out; I rested our cover on the ground, grabbed the crossbow’s stirrup and yanked it forward as hard as I could. The crossbow’s wielder crashed into the inside of the doors and fell to the floor badly injured.

I kicked the door repeatedly with my hobnailed boots; it shuddered and its hinges began to weaken. Lyra offered me the battle axe, but I would have needed both hands to wield it. Jarack tried to give the door a blow with the axe, but did not have enough room for a full swing. I could not move our protective cover as someone had started dropping rocks and other objects on us so I dared not put it down. The armored slot in the tower door opened again and this time someone tried to look out at us; Lyra jammed her sword into the opening and the observer screamed.

I detected five more crossbowmen awaiting us while the tower’s commander gathered ten men with swords to meet us. Two injured men slumped against the inside of the doors. When the tower doors seemed ready to give, I told Jarack to move aside and smashed our own door into them, knocking the tower doors off their hinges and crushing the injured men underneath. I shoved our door away and pulled Lyra to the floor, throwing myself over her as five crossbow bolts whirred over us. Jarack waved to the Reed warriors while Lyra and I leapt to our feet. I let out a lengthy and very satisfying scream as we charged into the tower’s wide lower room. And then we were along the Boltons. The crossbowmen ran up the stairs, leaving their comrades to face us.

Lyra and I fought as we had trained, in the paired style of Helium. I took the lead and Lyra covered my flanks. The Boltons hesitated, and I slashed the first man across the throat while Lyra stabbed his neighbor in his unarmored chest. The next man I faced raised his sword, but I knocked it down before he could strike and Lyra stuck her blade into his exposed face, then disarmed the man to her right with an unexpected back-swing that sent his blade tumbling out of his hands. I ran him through with my sword in my right hand while my left foot crushed the instep of the man to my own left. When he bent over in pain, I grabbed the back of his head and smashed it into my upraised left knee, snapping his neck and leaving me with a painful bruise.

In a few breaths we had killed seven of the ten swordsmen attempting to stop us. Two of them turned and ran, while their commander remained to face us alone.

“Yield,” Lyra said.

“Fuck you, bitch.” He charged with a wild swing. I side-stepped his attack and ran him through just as the first swamp warriors surged through the shattered door.

“You should not have called my friend ‘bitch’,” I told him as he died. Reed fighters surged past us.

“Watch for ambushes,” I shouted to the crannogmen. “They have crossbowmen waiting.”

I pulled my sword free of the Bolton commander’s chest and flexed my arms, sore from carrying the heavy door through a muddy morass. Lyra reached over and gently slapped my face with a bloody hand. She said nothing, but smiled.

“That is not your blood?” I asked, prepared to become upset.

“No, I’m fine. You?”

“I am tired from lifting that door, but also unhurt.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“It seems solid. I believe that I have fully recovered.”

We decided that we deserved a drink of wine, but could find none. We waited until Jarack reported the tower cleared, then climbed to the watch-posts on its roof. From there we could see the last occupied fortification, known as the Children’s Tower.

“You have a plan to take that one?” Lyra asked as we leaned out of the gaps in the wall surrounding the top of the tower, openings known as “crenellations.” “What are they thinking?”

I concentrated, moving from one man’s thoughts to another.

“There are thirty of them, some from House Frey and some from Bolton. They do not like one another. They are not sure that this tower has fallen. Some wish to surrender, some wish to force us to starve them out. They are very angry with one another.”

“Angry enough to fight?”

“I believe so.”

She called to a pair of swamp warriors atop the tower with us.

“Can you find a large banner? As large as you can, and bring it up here.”

They nodded and hurried down the stairs into the tower.

“Is there anything you can do to agitate them further?”

“No. I can understand their thoughts, but can only project thoughts to another telepath, one who can also read them.”

“Can we do the door thing again?”

“I do not think I could carry it that distance without some rest first.”

The two fighters returned with a very large banner displaying a swamp lizard trying to bite its own tail, the same emblem I had worn on my tunic. It was swamp gray-green, which meant that it blended with the coating of tiny plants that made the tower a similar shade of green. We slung the banner off the edge of the tower and weighted it in place with loose stones I pulled out of the rampart.

“Do they see it?”

I scanned the other tower.

“No. The lookouts atop the tower have commenced fighting one another. No one is watching us.”

“Care to pay them a visit?”

“Let us go.”

We climbed down the tower’s stairs and then walked across the open ground between the two towers. Lyra had retrieved her shield, in case someone noticed us. A few swamp fighters began slowly sneaking forward as well, using every tussock and stone to hide their advance. But no one saw us, and soon we had arrived at the tower’s door, yet another heavy wooden barrier reinforced with iron bands and large bolts like those on the other towers.

I pounded on the door. The slot opened and someone looked out; Lyra once again stabbed the watcher in the eye. I wondered how we would smash our way through, and pushed gently on the door to test its strength. It swung open with some scraping and creaking; it had not been barred.

Directly in front of us, a man in Frey clothing wrestled one wearing a pink overcoat with a corpse on it that I believed to be the Bolton insignia. They grasped each other tightly, each with a dagger in one hand, and I ran them both through. The men died while still trying to stab one another.

I put my foot on the back of the Frey man and shoved the two combatants forward to clear my sword. No one else seemed to notice us; all of the men remained locked in their own dances of death. I stood in the doorway to block their escape, while this time Lyra went outside to wave the swamp warriors forward. When our allies arrived they began shooting down the Freys and Boltons with arrows, turning their battle into a scene of mutual death within moments. The Reed soldiers then swept through the tower, killing several more men and capturing the garrison’s commander, a short, fat and very dirty man named Nage.

Lyra and I cleaned our swords and awaited our sisters; I had picked up Jory’s approaching thoughts along with Tansy and Trisha. They brought wine, and the five of us climbed to the top of the tower to share it. Despite her youth Jory had been on battlefields before and stepped over the dead without showing very much reaction.

“Lord Glover said the two of you are mad,” she reported as we marched up the stairs. “Something about charging the Gatehouse Tower with only a door as a shield?”

“It was a very thick door,” I said. “I held it over our heads. Lyra and Jarack had shields in case someone shot at us from ground level.”

“And you chopped down the Drunkard’s Tower?”

“It was close to collapse already.”

“And stormed this one, the Children’s Tower, you two alone?”

“They were already fighting themselves. I killed two of them but the rest never noticed us.”

“They sing songs about heroes who did less.” Jory smiled, unsure herself if she were jesting.

“You’ve had a busy afternoon,” Tansy said as we each climbed atop one of the upright segments of the fortified wall atop the tower, known as a “merlon.” “And you smell bad.” She handed me a skin bag filled with wine, and a cloth to wipe some of the mud off my face.

“Lord Reed said no one had ever captured this place,” Trisha said, “coming from the south.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I said, pointing to the fallen stones of the Drunkard’s Tower. “The towers could not support one another and had no linking fortifications between them. Not for many years, at least. No sentries outside the towers, no patrols. The commander here was extremely careless.”

“I’ll trust your judgement on matters military,” Tansy said. “But the legend exists nonetheless. Now it includes you.”

I had agreed to help in the assault out of friendship and gratitude; I had not intended to become a minor legend. I had succeeded thanks to my training and experience, along with my enhanced strength and a healthy portion of good fortune, but I still did not consider myself a warrior.

John Carter, on the other hand, had far more skills than I, an instinctive talent for battlefield decision-making along with extensive experience, and at least on Barsoom had even greater strength than what I had been granted here. I had captured a garrisoned castle, assassinated a crowned ruler, sunk a pirate ship and now conquered an unconquerable fortress.

No tales of even greater exploits by some mysterious outlander had come my way. Neither Queen Cersei nor Galbart Glover had heard of anyone like John Carter. While some other armed factions remained to be investigated, the probability of finding him in their ranks seemed remote. 

* * *

Marsden, whose hammer I had borrowed, came up the tower stairs searching for me. He bade me join the Lords Reed, Glover and Mormont in questioning Nage, the commander of the Bolton garrison. Trisha followed me. We found Nage secured in a small room within the Children’s Tower apparently used as an office, only two levels below the roof.

“Apologies for taking you from the other girls,” Maege said, smiling. “Our prisoner is not very talkative.”

“What do you wish to know?”

“Whatever he does.”

“That,” I said, “is a large request.”

“Chiefly, what does he know of the situation in the North, and the Bolton plans.”

“Whether the Bolton army approaches?”

“Yes.”

“Leave me with him.”

The lords and their accompanying soldiers filed out; I asked Trisha to remain with me with Marsden and Jarack outside the door. Trisha’s male comrades did not know of my telepathy, but I knew that they could be trusted to remain silent should they discover my ability. I took the chair behind the office’s desk and propped my boots on its surface. Mud dripped onto the papers scattered about. Wishing to look nonchalant, I picked up a document and pretended to read it, casting it aside when the prisoner’s thoughts showed that I held it upside-down.

“I won’t talk,” the prisoner said when we were alone. He was tied firmly to a wooden chair, placed to face the desk. Trisha stood directly behind him. “Anything you two bitches do to me, Ramsay will do worse.”

“That is likely,” I agreed. “Therefore I will not bother to torture you.”

He was slightly relieved; he feared me though he could not understand why I was coated in stinking swamp mud.

“Ramsay Bolton has been defeated in the North and retreats southward. You were ordered to hold this place until he arrived, gathering supplies, and then join the remnants of his defeated army on a march to the south in an attempt to reach the Lannister army. You do not know how many men survived but based on no actual evidence believe the number to be small. You have collected no additional supplies and your troops were on the point of mutiny over their lack of pay.”

“You learned none of that from me.”

“I learned all of that from you. I can read others’ thoughts. I cannot extract information if you do not think of it but you helpfully made a list in your mind of those things you would not tell my friends.”

“You lie.”

“I do not lie. And my mother was a princess, not a demon.”

“You . . . get out of my head.”

“I am afraid that I cannot do that. Do you have any other useful information?”

“No.”

“You appear to tell the truth. The Bolton family did not trust you with their plans.”

“I stood by Lord Roose through all the campaigns in the South.”

“And then his son murdered him? Why do you stand by him?” I probed for the obvious answer. “Because he will tear off your skin if you do not.”

“Bitch.”

“You are not the first to so name me. It rarely ends well for those who do.”

I could tell that the lords and their guards waited outside the office door. I asked Trisha to call for them to enter and repeated what I had learned.

“He wishes to murder me. Please have him executed immediately, or I will feel it necessary to throw him out the window. He should not have called me ‘bitch’.”

“Take his head,” Lord Reed told Trisha. “Burn his body like the others.”

Jarack and Marsden dragged Nage away; he said nothing more. Trisha followed, slowly turning the axe she’d taken from Marsden.

“How did you manage that without torture?” Lord Glover asked.

“I have many skills.”

“That became obvious,” he said, “when you cut down one tower and captured two others, single-handed.”

“That is not fully correct,” I said. “Lyra Mormont and the soldier Jarack were with me.”

* * *

We camped at Moat Cailin for two more days, while the soldiers built large fires to burn the dead and dragged the wreckage of the Drunkard’s Tower away from the Kingsroad. Howland Reed hoped to meet Ramsay Bolton’s advance while still amid the swamps, where his men would have the advantage of familiarity of terrain, and so was in no hurry to move on.

I took over a chamber on the top level of the Gatehouse Tower, along with Tansy, Lyra and Jory. We probably should have helped with the work, but instead we rested, ate and drank and took long baths in a large metal tub someone had left in the room. My escapade with the door had left me somewhat sore, so I had a small excuse for shirking. Before leaving Barsoom it would never have occurred to me to even consider that I might participate in physical labor, let alone feel guilt for failing to do so.

When we finally set out, our little army marched directly up the Kingsroad, with a cloud of scouts covering all four flanks. The road leading north from the swamp lands remained a rutted track, but at least the ground had hardened from the frost and we did not have to deal with mud.

Now that we had reached a real road, we could ride more easily and I spent a good deal of time alongside Jory Mormont. She taught me about the lands through which we passed: their animals, trees and plants. Very few people lived here, and according to Jory, this remained true throughout the North, though the population would not be as sparse everywhere.

As Jory chattered, I watched Tansy and Lyra riding side-by-side ahead of us. I had realized that in place of reading thoughts, these people often relied on reading what they called “body language.” That seemed far less effective, and prone to misinterpretation. As far as I could tell with my limited experience, Tansy appeared at ease with Lyra, laughing as Lyra told a story accompanied by broad hand gestures.

“She’s so much better now,” Jory said, following my eyes.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I don’t blame you. She didn’t laugh like that when she first brought you to Greywater Watch.”

Seeing Tansy’s happiness lightened my own spirits. For once, I did not feel the depressing weight of my actions, nor feel myself a lonely outcast. Tansy was not an outlier – other women of this world accepted me, even knowing me to be an alien who had cut a swath of murder and mayhem across Westeros.

“I owe the Mormont family a great deal.”

“No, you don’t,” Jory answered. “That’s just what friends do.”

“Things are so much easier when thoughts are open to others.”

“I’d imagine there are just as many added problems.”

I thought about that for a moment.

“I suppose that there are,” I said. “It is easy to prefer what you know.”

“Or despise it. I like Bear Island. My cousin Jorah couldn’t wait to escape, or so I’m told.”

“It is like these lands?”

“They’re all part of the North,” she explained. “The trees look much like these, but the heavy winds off the ice make them grow far more slowly and often in twisted shapes. The seas can be huge – big gray waves pounding against the rocks. It’s beautiful.”

“You wish to return.”

“I do. I can spend whole days just looking at the trees, finding birds’ nests in the rocks. Like that one,” she said, pointing to a collection of small pieces of wood and dead leaves jammed into a tree.

“They give birth there?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “They lay eggs there and then protect them until they hatch and then until they can fly on their own.”

“They defend their young?”

“Fiercely.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris must fight once again.


	31. Chapter Twenty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris throws a rock.

Chapter Twenty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

We had left the swamps behind us, but still had no contact with Ramsay Bolton’s army. We encountered no travelers, but on the fifth day after leaving Moat Cailin a Reed warrior named Sabas rode up and asked me to join the scouts at the front of our little column. He was of middle age, short like all of the crannogmen, and a veteran of the constant skirmishes with the Freys along the southern edges of the swamp. His thoughts showed great respect for me, for having killed Black Walder.

I nodded to Lyra and she rode with me; we dismounted where Sabas indicated and followed him to where one of his fellows lay at the top of a grass-covered hill, dropping to the ground and wriggling forward to the crest.

“Lord Reed says you have your own sort of greensight,” Sabas whispered. “What do you see, Princess?”

I looked out at the ground below. The road passed through a wider open area than it had during our march, and there a tiny army had arrayed itself to block passage from the south. They spanned the open area between the forests on either side, with about 500 men in three ranks. I scanned carefully for any other enemies.

“It is an ambush,” I said just as softly. “There are men in the woods to both sides.”

“We spotted them,” he said. “Perhaps 200 on each side?”

“I agree. They have bows and arrows. Did you encounter scouts?”

“Not that I’d call scouts. Pickets, more like, too close to the main body for us to take any prisoner. Can you tell what’s behind them?”

I concentrated again. I found no reserves behind the small enemy army and only a few horses at the very edge of my range. I picked out a few individuals and sorted through their thoughts. They expected us, but had no accurate count of our forces. They were all hungry, and apparently had eaten most of their horses in the recent past – more than one man was angry at having had to march on foot.

I sought their commander, but could not find him. I did find that the men in the woods had been ordered to remain hidden until their comrades on the road became engaged with the approaching Reed forces, then attack them from the flanks. They had been ordered to send out no scouts, so as not to give away their ambush.

“They have only what I believe to be their command group’s horses,” I said, “and no reserves. They stake all on their ambush. Let us tell your lord.”

The Lords Reed, Mormont and Glover awaited us. I knelt and drew the enemy alignment in the dirt, Sabas nodding his agreement and adding some comments on the nature of the forests and condition of the ground.

“They have no mounted troops,” I said. “And no reserve.”

“What do you suggest?” Lord Reed asked.

“What my city’s army would call a ‘double envelopment.’ We divide our forces and strike from either flank, taking their hidden forces from behind. Our best-armored troops advance straight up the road to hold their attention.”

“Bold and dangerous,” Lord Glover mused. “Dividing our force in the face of the enemy is generally frowned upon.”

“Fortune favors the bold,” I quoted John Carter, in turn quoting some famed warrior of Dirt.

Lord Reed pondered; his thoughts showed him unwilling to risk his men needlessly but realizing that a quick victory would actually lessen the bloodletting.

“You’re confident?” he asked me.

“You saw her at Moat Cailin,” Galbart Glover said.

“I will lead the Northern fighters up the road,” I said, drawing in the dirt with my finger. “We will halt out of range and insult them. I will challenge their lord to single combat, which he will refuse but that will provide additional time. Split your swamp fighters to attack both of the hidden groups from the rear. We will kill them all.”

Howland Reed looked to the other lords.

“It’s your command,” Lord Glover said. “But King Robb would have liked this plan.”

“I trust the Princess,” Maege added. “After Moat Cailin, the men will follow her anywhere. The women, too.”

The swamp lord nodded.

“Let’s make it so.” 

* * *

Jory and Trisha helped me dress. I put on Jory’s coat of ringed armor and the underlying padded tunic known as a “gambeson”; they fit me and must have been very uncomfortable on her smaller frame. The armor fell to a point between my knees and waist; the padding only went to a point slightly lower than my ass. I also took her shield but not her helmet. I hoped that I would not need the protection, but taking it from Jory assured that Maege would keep her with Tansy and the horses well behind our troops, and this eased my mind. I also wore the garment Jory called a “surcoat,” which covered the armor and had a picture of a bear on it. Trisha’s thoughts showed her eager to fight, and I nodded to her silent question.

Lord Reed had assigned me all of the Mormont and Glover warriors, the better-armored Reed soldiers, and stragglers from other Northern houses who had gathered at Greywater Watch after parting from Robb Stark’s army. In all I had about 500 men and perhaps 30 women, all of the latter from House Mormont except one from a house known as Umber. All were experienced fighters, and when I asked them to form a shield wall they did so quickly and expertly.

I placed Maege behind our ranks, to keep them ordered. Galbart Glover would lead the left wing through the forest and Howland Reed the right. Lord Glover had briefly objected that his place was in front of his men, but allowed that not all of us could lead from the front and someone needed to direct the flanking movements. His thoughts said that he had hoped to impress me with his valor.

I stood in front, with Trisha and Lyra; Tansy and Jory remained with a guard of swamp fighters with our small number of horses and our baggage train. And then we marched down the road. Lords Glover and Reed with their men had already set out, and I kept track of their thoughts though both soon moved to the very edge of my range.

“Stay with me,” I told my companions. “The soldiers need to see us before the battle. We will fall behind the line before it makes contact, so the soldiers can still hear us. Do not become tied up in individual fighting; we will go wherever we are needed.”

“I’ve done this before,” Lyra said, smiling.

“I know. I only confirm that we have the same plan.”

“Sticking with you seems a pretty good plan.”

“We will attempt to meet with them,” I said. “You will speak for us. Attempt to annoy them, and challenge their leader to single combat with me. If they demand two champions, Lyra and I will fight.”

“I’m not afraid to fight,” Trisha said. “Any of those bastards.”

“I know that,” I said. “Lyra and I have worked together a great deal more than you and I. You are my friend, and I would have you stay alive.”

She remained unhappy, but could not deny that she lacked Lyra’s skill with the sword, and had not practiced as intensely with me in paired combat.

“I will teach you both the triple style,” I said. “After this campaign is complete.”

We soon spotted the waiting Bolton army. I called our troops to a halt well beyond the range of enemy arrows, and ordered them to fall into their three ranks for battle. Our line did not quite reach the forest on either side. I would have preferred a thicker line, but did not wish us to be easily flanked in case something went wrong with our battle plan.

* * *

We walked out toward the enemy, Trisha and I on either side of Lyra, who would speak for us. I left my sword in its scabbard and Jory’s shield slung over my back. Two knights walked out from the enemy lines to meet us; as they drew closer, I saw that they wore a black horse’s head on an orange background as the symbol on their surcoats. They each carried a helmet and wore ringed armor like ours, but no other protection. We halted and let them approach; I did not want to rush this meeting so that Lord Reed had enough time to launch his attack before we had to fight.

“Three Mormont bitches,” one of the knights said. They looked almost identical to me; definitely brothers and possibly twins, which fascinated me – we have no twins on Barsoom. “Part of the She-Bear’s gigantic litter. Which ones are you?”

“Lyra Mormont,” Lyra said. “You’ve heard of my sister Dacey and my cousin Beth Cassel.”

“I’ve heard they’re dead.”

“You heard wrong. Apparently, you’ve been told many lies, ser, and forgotten your courtesies.”

I had not expected Lyra to name me as her dead sister - she had no idea of that concept’s importance in my culture, or my growing desire to become her sister - but I understood that she wished to undermine the brothers’ confidence in their leader.

“Ser Roger Ryswell,” the first knight said. “My brother, Ser Rickard.”

“You serve Roose Bolton?”

“Roose is dead. We follow Ramsay.”

Their thoughts showed uneasiness about following Ramsay Bolton, but they feared they would be killed out of hand by the other Northerners for their treason. That was certainly my companions’ desire.

“And why is he not here to speak for himself?”

“Because he sent us in his place.”

“We’re all of the North,” Lyra said. “Surely we need not shed Northern blood today. Join us.”

“It’s gone too far for that,” the knight said. “You chose to follow the Starks. We chose the new order.”

“You chose poorly.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“You wish to march south,” I finally spoke. “We will not allow this.”

“Dornish whore,” his brother now spoke as well. “You’re no Mormont. Nor is the red-head; the little Cassel bitch with the sweet tits and tight cunt was a dirty blonde. Ramsay broke her in good and gave us all a taste before he did for her, so get your lies straight. And we’ll go where we please. Bend the knee to Lord Ramsay, and he’ll spare you. After he takes his pleasure.”

“That will not happen,” I said. “So fight us. Paired combat. Two brothers, two sisters. The army of the losers will submit to the winners.”

“How chivalrous. You know neither side will submit.”

“I do. But it will assure me of the chance to kill you personally.”

He laughed. But he had threatened Lyra with rape. He would die today.

“Go tell the men,” he told his brother. “The two of us will kill all three of these bitches.”

The other Ryswell walked toward his own army, shouting to them that we would now hold a duel. Lyra did the same for our troops. From Lord Reed’s thoughts, I knew that he was moments from launching his attack, while Galbart Glover on the left flank only awaited Lord Reed’s signal.

“It’s nothing personal,” Roger Ryswell said, sneering as he slowly drew his sword.

“It is for me,” I answered, drawing my own sword. “You should not have called me ‘bitch’.”

“Valyrian steel,” he said, lifting his helmet. “You know how to use it?”

“No,” I said, stepping forward and raising my left knee sharply into his unarmored genitals, which are far more vulnerable to such attack than those of a man of Barsoom. He fell to his knees with a howl and I brought the pommel of my sword down on the top of his uncovered head, stunning him. I placed my sword’s point in the hollow at the base of his throat and jammed it home. John Carter would have taken him prisoner; that option did not occur to me until he was already dead.

“Roger!” the other Ryswell shouted, charging at us with his sword drawn as I pulled my blade free of his twin’s corpse. Trisha parried his strike and stabbed him in the chest before he could return his blade into ready position; his momentum pressed her sword through his body.

“Just like you taught me,” she said as she placed her booted foot on Rickard Ryswell’s abdomen and kicked his dying body free of her sword. “Parry and counter-strike.”

Before I could answer, men came crashing out of the woods, running in panic with arrows flying after them. I signaled to our troops to advance, grabbing Trisha by the back of her ringed armor’s collar to stop her from rushing into the oncoming arrows.

“Not yet,” I shouted into her ear over the rising roar of excited men. “You will have your chance.”

Our line ran over Ramsay Bolton’s fleeing men, killing those who had survived the swamp warriors’ arrows. My companions and I fell behind our third rank. When our shield wall reached the enemy their line – mostly Ryswell soldiers, I now understood – had already begun to crumble under attack on both its flanks.

I shouted to our troops to keep their formation, and we steadily cut down the disordered enemy. Many now tried to surrender, but our own fighters, bitterly angry over what they saw as treason, cut them down or speared them where they knelt. Had I spared the Ryswell, our men would have killed him anyway. Our troops tried to run forward individually, but Maege kept the lines in order while Lyra and I rushed about shouting for discipline. Only when I was sure that Lord Reed’s and Lord Glover’s men had closed completely around the Bolton army did I release the first rank for a general pursuit, but I kept the second and third ranks in line. Lyra remained with me while Trisha joined the hunt.

Within a short time the battle had ended. Ramsay Bolton himself and a few followers escaped on their handful of horses. The Northerners took no prisoners.

* * *

With my sister, the Mormonts and Lords Reed and Glover I sat at a fire built by the swamp fighters, while they collected the dead and burned them. We had lost less than twenty men, mostly Reed fighters cut down by unlucky arrows, and counted over a thousand dead Bolton and Ryswell soldiers.

“I won’t doubt you again, Princess,” Lord Glover said as I took my place nestled next to Tansy. “Not even King Robb had that sort of mind for battle.”

“Was he trained for it?” I asked.

“As far as I know, no more than any other highborn warrior.”

“We study war in my lands – the outcome of old battles, how they were fought, how the armies maneuvered, and most importantly how to keep them supplied. My husband commands our forces, but as a princess I had to learn of these things.”

“King Robb spoke of old battles when giving his orders,” Lord Glover said, “and seemed inspired by their lessons.”

“That is our way as well. The past does not repeat itself, but one can learn from similar situations.”

He thought wistfully of how Robb might have survived had he married me instead of a fairly insipid merchant’s daughter, then realized that I was probably ten years older than his king – an estimate that was only short by about 750 of their years. He had been loyal to King Robb, but genuinely liked him as well.

“What is next?” I asked Lord Reed.

“Dispose of the bodies, collect the spoils, and then camp a little north of here tonight.”

“And Ramsay Bolton?”

“I’ve already sent scouts to seek him,” Howland Reed said. “He likes to attack unprepared enemy camps, so we will be extra watchful as well.” 

* * *

Two days later, we descended into a small tree-filled valley that the swamp lord called a “glen.” Snow had begun falling on the previous day. I detected thoughts ahead: the remnants of Ramsay Bolton’s army, less than fifty men, waited in the trees for us. I told the swamp lord to halt our column.

We dismounted and left some of the men holding the horses, while the rest of us spread out and entered the forest on either side of the road. Tansy remained with Maege and Jory among the horse-holders, while Lyra and I joined the Mormont fighters. Trisha made to join us as well, but I gestured for her to remain with Jory and Tansy. She nodded and drew her sword. We vastly outnumbered those who would ambush us, and I hoped we could finish them.

As I crept through the trees, my foot struck something under the snow. I reached down to feel for it and picked it up. It was simply a rock, ovoid-shaped and about the size of a just-laid thoat egg. I still had it in my hand when I spotted a small group of people in a clearing ahead.

In the center of them stood a man whose thoughts identified him as Ramsay Snow. As telepaths know, one usually obtains a stranger’s name in their first thoughts because Barsoomian etiquette calls for them to send it if for some reason they are unable to speak. Otherwise, few people ever think of their own name. And even the strongest telepath can only read what is in the thoughts of another – if they don’t think about it, there is nothing to read. But it is difficult for an untrained mind to avoid thinking of pink zitidars.

Ramsay Snow thought of how his real name had become Ramsay Bolton, the head of House Bolton now that he had killed his father. He continued to speak of himself in the third person in his rambling internal monologue, sometimes as Ramsay Snow and sometimes as Ramsay Bolton. He would destroy all of his enemies, including those about to be ambushed on the road now. He told the four young women around him that he would capture our leaders and take his vengeance on them, flaying the skin from their flesh as he had a young boy of the Stark family. He hoped to capture women in particular to torture; the anticipation aroused him. He waved a small knife to emphasize his words and thoughts.

He was quite insane.

Each of the young women stared adoringly at him, drinking in every word. Their thoughts revealed three hoping to be chosen to receive orgasm; the fourth hoped that she and one of the others would be chosen to pleasure Ramsay Snow together. Each was easily as insane as her master, and three of them each held the leash of a large, angry and very hungry dog.

All five of them stared as Lyra and I stepped into the clearing. Ramsay Snow considered which of us he would rather rape. I wanted to draw my sword, but still had the rock in my hand. I almost dropped it, but instead hefted it and considered throwing it at him before using my sword. He noticed my indecision.

“I’ll wager,” he taunted, “that you throw like a girl.”

That decided me. I hurled the rock at Ramsay Snow as hard as I could, rolling it off my fingers to make it spin. I aimed for his face, but it struck him at the base of his throat. He dropped his little skinning knife and his arms began to flail wildly about as he fell to his knees. He grasped at his throat, where the rock had become lodged, and tried to pull it free as blood spurted from the wound. Then he fell forward into the snow. His body continued to jerk spasmodically, but I could tell he was already dying.

I do throw like a girl. A fast and deadly girl.

His friends dropped the leashes of their dogs, which charged at us making their “bark” sounds and sending out great clouds of spittle as they ran through the snow. All of the women carried bows, but their thoughts indicated that the strings had become wet, rendering them useless. And so they came running behind the dogs, wildly yelling and waving swords.

I moved closer to Lyra and drew my sword. I tried to contact the dogs telepathically, but they were consumed with battle frenzy. Fortunately, I wore the heavy gloves I had taken from Brienne, leather with thick padding over them and an outer layer of very well-made “mail” armor with small and very flexible links.

The dogs had opened a lead over the women, and when the first one reached us, I rammed my armored right hand into its open mouth and sharply snapped its lower jaw downward, breaking it. The dog whimpered and fell to the ground as I slashed the second dog, coming in from my left, across its forelegs, taking off its left leg and damaging its right. As it howled, I spun right and sank my sword deeply into the flank of the dog charging at Lyra.

Lyra kept her blade in ready position and the first of Ramsay’s women to reach us simply ran onto her sword. She was rather fat with a plump face, and large breasts squeezed into a tight black corset with their pale, soft flesh spilling over the top. She dropped her sword and fell onto her back, her battle cry instantly silenced.

The next woman, thin with long brown hair and also dressed in a black corset, swung her sword awkwardly at Lyra, who stepped backward to easily dodge the blow. Lyra blocked the back-swing with a hard parry that knocked the sword out of the woman’s hands. She stared open-mouthed with her hands dangling slackly at her sides as Lyra hesitated to kill an unarmed woman.

“No,” the woman whispered. “Please, no.”

“Kill her!” I shouted. “Kill her _now_!”

Snapping back to full awareness, Lyra rammed her sword into the center of the thin woman’s chest, pushed it through her body up to its hilt and then pulled it free. The woman made a soft mewling sound and stood for a moment before she collapsed and died.

The other two women rushed at me, but did not try to coordinate their movements. Both were dressed like their friends. I backhanded the one to my left with my armored gauntlet across her face, sending her sprawling. The other took a wild swing at my head; I ducked under it and then rose with a two-handed swing of my own. She had brown hair, similar to Lyra’s though cut shorter, and a round red-cheeked face that reminded me of the small woodland creature known as a “chipmunk,” now contorted with rage.

I mistook her black corset for a breastplate and swung hard into her left armpit to shatter her armor; instead my sword cut through the flesh of her shoulder and neck to take off both her arm and her head. The head rolled away; the arm dropped to the ground while the body collapsed to its knees and then fell forward.

I stepped over the fresh corpse to where the surviving woman lay on her back, holding her broken nose and groaning. With my foot I shoved her sword away from her hand.

“What in the seven hells was that?” Lyra asked, cleaning her sword with the cloak she had ripped from the fat woman’s corpse. She walked over to stand beside me and look down at the woman lying on her back in the snow.

“The man is named Ramsay Snow,” I said. “Or sometimes Ramsay Bolton. He thought of himself under both names. He was quite insane, and wanted to rape us and then peel our skin from our flesh. Or perhaps in the opposite order; he was undecided. He apparently had done such things before, and these women helped him.”

I looked at Lyra.

“You cannot hesitate in battle,” I said. “Otherwise it could be you with a sword through your heart. I could not bear for that to happen.”

My voice broke on the last words.

“I . . . I know,” she said, startled to realize my deep feeling for her. “I don’t know what I was thinking. She would have stabbed me in the back the moment I looked away.”

Before I could reply with some foolish declaration of love, the woman on the ground let out a loud moan and moved her hands away from her bleeding nose. She was tall with long silvery-yellow hair, broad shoulders, wide hips and small breasts. She had probably been pretty before I ruined her face.

“Who in the hells are you?” Lyra asked her.

“We’re Ramsay’s Bitches,” she said, her voice muffled by her injury. “We help him skin the weak and if we’re good, we get to fuck him.”

I probed her thoughts. She had a weak grasp of reality, hating me for killing Ramsay Snow yet hoping to receive orgasm from him soon.

“She’s mad?” Lyra asked, looking at me.

“Absolutely,” I said. “She is eager to kill us.”

“She probably should have learned to use that sword before trying to kill people with it.”

“You killed Ramsay, you bitch,” the woman said to me, then turned to Lyra. “And you, you bitch, you killed Myranda. She was unarmed! What did she ever do to you? I’m going to kill you until you’re both dead. Slowly, like he’d want it. Deliciously, with your skin peeling off just a little at a time. I’ll start with your tits. He’d like that. But I won’t kill you right away, so you can each see me peel the other bitch and hear your lover scream.”

Like her friends, she wore a black corset tied tightly with leather laces; it looked extremely uncomfortable. I placed the tip of my sword on the exposed flesh between the laces at the center of her chest, as Howland Reed emerged from the trees.

“Not the heart,” he said. “Take her head. We can’t have her rising, and we don’t have the dry wood to burn all the bodies. Take all the heads, and make sure they’re well-separated from their bodies.”

“You know about these women?”

“I’ve heard stories,” he said. “They’re said to be as murderously insane as Ramsay Snow.”

“He’s Lord Ramsay Bolton,” the woman on the ground screeched, “and he is your liege lord!”

“He looks like just another bloody corpse to me,” Lyra said. “Please shut her up.”

“As you wish.”

“Bitch!” she screamed, but I did not give her time to say any more. I pulled her head off the ground by her hair’s long, heavy braid and sliced through her neck, then used the braid to sling the head deep into the nearby trees. I kicked the head of the chipmunk-woman I had already beheaded away from her body, and saw Lyra removing the head from the fat woman’s corpse and giving it an underhanded toss into the branches of a tree. She did the same for the thin woman named Myranda.

“Perhaps it would be best not to mention this to Lord Glover,” Howland Reed said, gesturing to the chipmunk-woman’s headless corpse. “I believe this woman was a Glover relative.”

Lord Reed left us, but the dogs I had injured remained nearby, whimpering. They did not try to attack or flee as I approached; they expected to die. I did not know if they could rise, but took off their heads and threw them away just to be sure, while Lyra did the same to the one I had stabbed in the heart.

Next, I walked across the clearing and removed the head of Ramsay Snow. Taking it by its long and greasy hair, I tossed it gently in front of me and kicked it as hard as I could, as in the ball games we sometimes play on Barsoom. It sailed over the trees and out of sight. I found this strangely satisfying. If he became an undead creature, he would be severely limited in his capacity for further evil.

I checked all of the corpses for money; the women had none but I took a large sack of gold coins from Ramsay Snow’s corpse. I shared them with Lyra.

We rejoined Howland Reed in a large clearing where his soldiers had met and killed the rest of Ramsay Snow’s men. They were removing the heads from the corpses and dropping them through a hole in the ice covering a nearby pond.

“Does taking their heads prevent their rising?” I asked.

“I truly do not know,” he said. “But reason tells me that it should at least make them less capable evil beings if they can’t tell where they’re going or who they’re attacking.”

“Reason tells me,” Lyra said, “that the dead are supposed to stay dead.”

“That’s a fair point,” Lord Reed conceded. “But without fire, I don’t have a better idea. Do you?”

“Slice off their hands and feet?” Lyra offered.

“Not a bad plan.” He nodded and walked away, calling out new instructions to his men.

“You have seen the dead rise?” I asked Lyra.

“No. But it happens in the old tales of the North. If Lord Reed says it can happen, we should take it absolutely seriously.”

I hoped cutting off the heads and hands would be enough, that the heads would not be able to reunite with their bodies, crawling about on small spidery legs like the Kaldanes of Barsoom. 

* * *

That night we stopped in a large forest clearing and camped under the trees; Maege had an impressive tent but I slept under the stars beneath a large fur with Tansy, Lyra and Jory all clustered around me, happy for my excessive warmth. I felt very comfortable with them near, and stared up at the very clear, cold sky long after they had all fallen asleep.

I had come to like the Mormont sisters very much; I knew that I would fight to defend Jory as fiercely as I would Tansy. And I had felt completely at ease with Lyra when we fought at Moat Cailin, against the Ryswells and when facing Ramsay’s Bitches, a feeling I had but rarely known on Barsoom, and treasured when I had. I had also fallen in love with her, but I dared not speak this aloud.

I remained an alien in this world: my body, my thoughts, my ways all remained inherently different from those of these people. But something within me had changed yet again, and this time it did not leave me with a feeling of self-loathing.

Nowhere in the beautiful black skies did I see a red planet move. Would I ever return to Barsoom? Even if I could see Barsoom, could I teleport back? I felt Jory snuggle more closely against my flank, and I put my arm around her shoulders. Did I want to return?

I did not like many things about this place, other than its food. I found many of its animals repulsive, like the inherently evil creature known as “cat,” though I loved horses. I missed the open, dry plains and red rock and sand. I missed the sweet tones of our speech, and the closeness engendered by telepathy. I missed the powerful rhythms of our music.

Oddly, I did not miss my privileges – either those of my station, or those conferred by Barsoom’s superior technology. I supposed I might feel differently were I to be injured or fall ill again with some hurt beyond the skill of Howland Reed to heal.

I had teleported through interstellar space to find John Carter, who neither loved nor even liked me. Instead I had found people I loved, who accepted me as I was. My cravings for acceptance, for belonging, had been answered. Now I rode toward a climactic battle with a powerful evil being, in which I might well die, and could only think of their safety. I would fight for them, and I would defend them, and I would sacrifice none of them.

I drifted into dream-free sleep. The sun had not yet risen when Trisha awakened me to take her place on watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris encounters a very different sort of red woman.


	32. Chapter Nine (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter rides into battle.

Chapter Nine (John Carter)

Eventually the lush farmlands of western Essos gave way to pasturelands, then open rangeland, and finally to uninhabited grasslands. The Dothraki considered this “Great Grass Sea” to be their true home, though Jhaqo told me that the old legends said they had come from even further to the east.

My khaleesi rode her beloved silver mare, despite her pregnancy - the Dothraki expected this of their women, who did not enter confinement like a proper lady of Virginia. Jhiqui told her that Dothraki women also expected to continue love-making while carrying a child, but I drew a sharp line there. After some tearful argument, I conceded that Daenerys could participate alongside Doreah, but not to the point of hysteria, and told her that I would finish inside our slave or between Doreah’s breasts rather than inside my wife.

To provide my horses and men with food and fodder, not to mention our huge train of non-combatants, I had to spread our advance over a broad front to allow our outriders to forage. The Dothraki brought in prodigious amounts of game, using lines of horsemen to drive their prey into ever-tightening circles, yet they also consumed vast amounts. The Great Grass Sea was not entirely uninhabited, and the poor souls attempting to farm this harsh land gave up their supplies as well.

During those raids, Dothraki outriders also committed outrages against women. This had been a death-penalty offense in the Army of Northern Virginia, but my Dothraki horde was not subject to military discipline. It was their way, and I had learned a lifetime ago that an officer should never give an order that he knows will not be obeyed. Perhaps later, when the Dothraki formed only part of my forces, I could instill a more rigid code among them. For now, I decided, the civilians they encountered would continue to suffer. My khaleesi would soon upset my measured approach.

At least my efforts to create a more balanced army appeared to be bearing fruit. The Myrish crossbowmen had begun to train additional recruits taken from the bravos and the former Latecomers, and Orange Cat was now drilling units of pikemen who could operate alongside the crossbowmen - the heavy crossbow took all of its wielder’s attention and strength, and additional men with shields and pikes were required to protect them from enemy cavalry. Why the Myrish companies had not included pikemen of their own, I did not understand. Myr had provided 800 pikes before our departure, and Orange Cat could have used twice as many. Syrello, the crossbow commander, had less than 200 spare weapons with which to arm additional recruits.

We had combined riders from the Latecomers and the Black Stripes to form a heavy cavalry brigade of 1,000 men. Most of the officers came from the Black Stripes. Each man had a full set of good armor, a large powerful destrier and a second remount, plus a riding horse. Almost all of the other Latecomers now marched on foot and wielded pikes under Orange Cat’s command. A few had refused all attempts to find a useful place for them and I had put them to death, impaling the ringleaders. For the remainder, I wielded the headsman’s axe myself.

I had to balance the need for training with our need to arrive at Vaes Dothrak. The Dothraki liked to think of themselves as unencumbered riders of the plains, but in truth their khalasars had always been slowed by the huge train of cattle, slaves and camp followers strung out in their wake. I called a halt to each day’s march with at least two hours of daylight left to allow Orange Cat to train his men. Each khas worked on formation riding during this time, or with weapons, and I trained my Companions in light cavalry tactics and in formed charges. I hoped to acquire some lightweight armor for them, perhaps the boiled leather that Mormont told me mercenaries of these lands favored. Eventually I planned to convert the Companions from a tribal organization to a regiment along military lines.

Hard training improved the military potential of the Dothraki, while enforcing a form of discipline. They enjoyed playing at war, instinctively recognizing the old saw that you fight like you train. But they also practiced at my command, and doing so every day reinforced my authority as their absolute leader.

Every few days I called off the march, to allow the camp followers to rest and recover and to allow large-scale maneuvers of all my warriors together with the crossbowmen, pikemen and heavy cavalry. After watching Lodovico’s men charge in formation, I directed him to replace all of his stallions - perhaps a third of his mounts - with geldings from the huge Dothraki surplus. I wanted the armored men to be able to charge knee-to-knee, something stallions will not tolerate.

“It’s the way of knights in Westeros,” Mormont explained. Almost all of those who rode stallions had come from the western continent. “A stallion’s better suited for war. He already wants to fight.”

“That’s not enough,” I said. “I want men and horses who both want to fight, and know how to obey. If I have to choose, I’ll take the latter.”

Among my household, Belwas worked with Calye on handling her sword, and taught Irri, Jhiqui and Doreah to defend themselves with their knives. Doreah carried a stiletto in her sleeve and another strapped to her thigh; apparently this was common among Lysene prostitutes. I decided that I could trust her with a weapon, as she had shown no inclination to use it on Daenerys or even on me and I wished for my princess’ handmaids to form her final line of defense. I would come to regret this decision.

Mormont found two dozen experienced clerks and paymasters among the mercenary companies, who could be transferred to the army staff without harming operations now that those companies had been consolidated into two brigades. The bravos also yielded almost the same number of young men who had worked in counting houses or merchant firms and eagerly traded the Unsullied’s brutal training regime for pen and ledger.

I had realized that Mormont neither read nor wrote particularly well, yet only Doreah among my household was truly at ease with the written word and I did not trust her. Despite the added staff manpower, I continued to task Doreah with copying out contracts each evening after camp had been made, figuring that such work would occupy her mind and give her less opportunity to turn my beloved princess against me. Her full bosom and exposed legs distracted the young clerks, so she had to perform her work in my tent. Her overly female form distracted me as well, but I had the right to take her when I pleased, and once the new supplies of moon tea arrived I did so fairly often. She had ceased to struggle, and now simply lay still and wished for me to finish quickly. I found this much less exciting, but continued to make use of her.

My dispatch of my lovely blonde slave to Mormont’s bed had not quenched his ardor for my beautiful young wife; as her breasts swelled and skin glowed in the early stages of pregnancy, he only became more attracted to her. So did I, but I dared not risk our child’s safe development and so I quenched my own ardor in Calye and Doreah.

* * *

Twenty days into the Great Grass Sea, our outriders clashed with scouts from another khalasar making a parallel course to our south. I told Pono that I wanted to find a hilltop with a gentle rise leading to the south, and one of his riders quickly reported such a feature. I ordered the khalasar to move there at its best speed, and arrayed my forces for battle.

Orange Cat would command the combined crossbow and pike phalanx, which I placed at the center. Lodovico’s heavy cavalry went directly behind them, along with my Companions. Pono’s khas went on the right, Aggo’s on the left, and Jhaqo’s in reserve out of sight behind the hill. The baggage train, herds and slaves were placed even further back, with a heavy screen from Jhaqo’s khas around them.

As I expected, the opposing khalasar rode toward us in a mob-like formation. They halted about 500 yards away and a group of four men rode out. The morning clouds had burned away, leaving a fine day under blue skies. A perfect day for battle.

“Their khal,” Jhaqo said. “And his bloodriders.”

“You know him?”

“Ahesso. His khalasar is about the size of my khas, perhaps less.”

“His reputation?”

“Brutal and stupid.” Jhaqo paused, then continued. “Drogo liked him.”

I thought for a moment, and decided.

“I will ride to meet them,” I said. “And challenge this Ahesso to single combat. After I kill him and his bloodriders, I’ll return here and we’ll meet their charge. After we break it, your khas will finish them.”

I allowed Ahesso and his companions to approach to a point closer to our lines than his before riding out to meet him.

“The Stallion strengthen your arm,” my khaleesi said, in passable Dothraki. I turned back to smile; Jhiqui had taught her the traditional blessing of a Dothraki woman for her man riding to battle. I would have to reward my slave-tutor. Mormont sat his horse uneasily, knowing that he would die as well were I to fall, as would my khaleesi - she could not be allowed to give birth to a dead man’s heir. Doreah knew that she would suffer much worse, yet hoped for my death all the same. She fingered her stiletto and decided that she would kill herself and, to my surprise, Daenerys before either of them could be raped. Perhaps she had better sense than I had believed. Daenerys’ thoughts showed only slight anxiety; Calye’s a great deal.

“Rakharo,” I said. “Ride with me. Belwas, remain close to the khaleesi.”

As Jhaqo had said, Ahesso proved to be unusually stupid. He was physically huge, much larger than I, and wielded a massive arakh to match his size. His mount matched the man, one of the largest horses I have ever seen.

I stopped Demon a few feet from Ahesso and his men, but had no chance to speak to them.

“No talk,” the big man said. “Fight.”

He kicked his horse into a trot, but it could make no more speed. I left Steel Flame in her scabbard and instead drew a dagger, throwing it at the big man. As I had expected, he could not dodge without falling from his horse and the blade took him in the center of his forehead. With my strength behind the throw, it punched through his thick skull and into his tiny brain. He slid off his gigantic horse to settle amid the grass, already dead.

I now drew Steel Flame, expecting to fight the bloodriders, but they turned their horses and raced back to the khalasar. None had borne deep love for Ahesso, but they did intend to attack us. I waved to Rakharo and we turned back for our own force.

“Are they not required to fight me?” I asked Jhaqo when I reached our command group.

“Yes,” he said. “They should have fought where their khal died, but they can retrieve some honor if you are killed in the coming battle.”

“I don’t plan to be,” I said. “They’re whipping themselves into a frenzy, and then they’ll charge straight up the hill. Be ready.”

“They come,” Rakharo said. And so they did, in a ragged mass aimed directly for the center of my formation. I could see Orange Cat standing in the midst of his phalanx, one hand raised. When the enemy came within range, he dropped it; the pikemen knelt and pushed their weapons forward while the first crossbow bolts whirred toward the charging horsemen.

Most of the Myrmen got off four bolts before the Dothraki hit the levelled pikes. Stiffened by the Unsullied, the pikemen held their ground and the attackers milled about before them while more steel bolts slammed into their unprotected flesh. A few of the Dothraki tried to return the fire with their bows, but they managed to loose few arrows and strike with even fewer.

“The crawlers can fight,” Jhaqo said, impressed. “Much better than I expected.”

“In a moment, we’ll counter charge with Lodovico’s brigade and my Companions,” I said. “Wait until the enemy recoils, then you may begin the pursuit.”

“They’re already finished,” Mormont said. “You don’t have to join in.”

“I do,” I said. “The khalasar must see their khal in battle.”

“It is known,” my khaleesi added.

“It is known,” my command staff repeated in unison.

“Signal the heavy horse,” I told one of my Dothraki Companions, who waved the large orange banner he carried. Lodovico’s trumpets sounded, telling the foot soldiers to open lanes as we had drilled for endless afternoons. I led one column of Companions down the right-most alley and Rakharo led the other down the alley to my left. Three more alleys accommodated the armored heavy cavalry.

Demon simply rode down the first enemy horseman we reached, sending the animal and rider crashing to the earth while Steel Flame slashed through the arm and chest of the man to my right. The fallen rider, pinned under his horse, struggled to free himself for perhaps three seconds before my own horse’s hoof caved in his skull.

I reveled in the fight, as I had not since arriving in this world. Vague memories said that I had done this before, and I fell into a steady rhythm, using telepathy to identify those seeking to strike me and my own skill to strike them first. Blood soon coated both my sword and my right arm, and before I knew it Demon and I broke into the open on the opposite side of the enemy mass.

I rallied about two hundred of my Companions and plunged back into the fight, but the enemy had broken and now fled the field as best they could. I saw our own Dothraki on either flank begin the pursuit, with Jhaqo’s riders appearing behind them. The battle was over, the enemy finished.

By the time I returned to my khaleesi’s side, the pursuit had passed out of sight. The tall grass hid the corpses, but I knew that they dotted the hillside in their thousands. We had surely lost some men; I did not expect many of the enemy to survive.

From one perspective, the slaughter of Ahesso’s khalasar represented a waste of good manpower. I very likely could have overwhelmed them with a show of strength, though their stupid khal would not doubt have had to die, and then incorporated them into my own ranks.

But before today I had yet to bloody my sword in open battle alongside my khalasar; I had only killed Drogo and his bloodriders in the arena, and two enemy leaders in frankly one-sided single combats. I could not truly be considered khal until I had fought alongside my men. And now I had.

I told Rakharo to send riders with orders that all wealth - coin and other valuables - be gathered and brought to my headquarters. The enemy’s cattle and horses would be added to our own herds. Prisoners would be roped together and brought before me for disposition. I did not mention the enemy’s women, knowing that my Dothraki would pleasure themselves upon them.

The Dothraki celebrated late into the night, pleased with their victory, and pleased with their khal. They had seen me fight, and most importantly, they had seen my methods bring them a crushing victory. I toured the night-fires, sharing drink and meat with my warriors. I was offered many women - some willing, some not - but declined. When I returned to my own campsite, I found my khaleesi waiting for me.

“My chieftain,” she said. “Were I not with child, I would see you rewarded for your victory.”

“My princess, your smile is reward enough.”

She spoke for the benefit of those who overheard; later Doreah would service me while my wife looked on.

“Rakharo,” I nodded to the _ko_ of my Companions. “You fought well today, and led well. How many did we lose?”

“Thirty-one dead, my khal,” he said. “Forty wounded who will recover. Six wounded who will be helped to the Night Lands with the dawn.”

Though our fight had been brief, it had been intense, and I had feared steeper casualties. My Companions had suffered for their total lack of protection; when we returned to civilized lands we would definitely issue boiled leather and perhaps some lightweight chain mail.

“You and I will select replacements from those prisoners we choose to add to the khalasar,” I told Rakharo. “Our losses in horses?”

“Sixty-four,” he said. “Sajo has sent new horses already, from those taken as booty.”

“Very good,” I said, and looked at my wife’s handmaidens. “Irri, I was pleased to hear my khaleesi speak to my officers in Dothraki today. Please help Jhiqui select a new horse for herself from the khal’s share of booty.”

“With pleasure, my khal.”

“Ser Jorah,” I addressed my chief of staff. “When I wake, I’ll expect casualty lists, a prisoner count, and a count of horses, cattle, food, weapons and valuables taken. An estimate of the enemy dead as well, it needn’t be exact.

* * *

As my khaleesi showed no objection to my use of Calye, and my Dothraki respected a khal’s virility, I continued to take her each morning. Now that we rode through tall grass reaching the withers of most horses or even higher, we rode a short distance away from the camp while my household slaves prepared breakfast. The Dothraki did not mind making love in open view, but I retained my sense of propriety.

After we had dismounted, I turned Calye to face her horse and lifted her skirt, as I had greeted each sunrise since we entered the Great Grass Sea. She resisted, turned about and placed her pale hand alongside my face.

“John,” she said, her voice sounding rough. “You never . . . never look me in the eye anymore. Never show any . . . any love.”

While Daenerys had been excited to see me fight, Calye had been terrified. She did love me, in her own way, and didn’t want to watch my death. And she knew that were I to be killed, the Dothraki would likely rape her and cut her throat. Her terror had eased, but she remained highly emotional.

“I don’t love you,” I said, determined to be honest. “I’ve never loved you. You know that.”

“But I . . . I love you.”

“You’re too short,” I said, “to make love standing up.”

“You’re strong enough to hold me.”

Once again, I gave in to my sex slave, holding her by the waist and moving her as she wrapped her legs about my thighs and arms about my shoulders and kissed me. She threw her head back as she reached female climax and howled. I set her on the ground after I had finished inside her; this time she did not cry but smiled broadly instead.

“One more thing,” she said, with more confidence than I expected. “I want to be more than just . . . than just your release. I can do more for you. The next time we . . . we fight, I want to ride with you and Belwas.”

“As a Dothraki warrior?”

“I can use a sword,” she said. “And I can . . . I can ride.”

Her swordsmanship, and horsemanship, had improved, though neither was very good. I allowed male warriors of less skill to fight, but I believed her likely to be killed were she to encounter a veteran enemy. She most definitely would have died in the previous day’s melee.

“You stay with alongside Belwas,” I said. “I’m not ready to replace you just yet.”

I would look back on this moment years later, as I looked down at her still, chalk-white corpse after Beth Cassel had taken her life. Had I said “no” to Calye on that fine morning, that murderous harlot’s sword would never have found my first follower’s heart. Calye was not the first, nor the last, woman close to me to lose her life because I had failed in my duty to firmly control her impulsive acts.

* * *

Our prisoner count totaled just over 1,500 men of fighting age, some two thousand children and almost ten thousand women. We had killed close to eight thousand enemy warriors at a loss of two hundred of our own; my Dothraki had slain all of the elderly and infirm in the enemy camp as well. I found the practice dishonorable, but chose not to challenge such long-standing tradition. Truth be told, I was relieved not to be responsible for their care.

Teams of slaves combed the high grass to collect the weapons and valuables of those slain on the battlefield. They brought in several thousand good arakhs, which I ordered issued to those of my men who still carried Drogo’s favored moon-blades. Bows and lances also found new owners. We left the corpses of men and horses to rot under the hot sun, in the Dothraki way.

Tradition now allowed me to dispose of the prisoners as I would. I could sell them into slavery, which was the usual outcome of such battles according to my _ko_ s though rarely on such a large scale. Or I could incorporate them into our own khalasar. I decided on the latter, adding about 1,300 men to our ranks though I spread them across each khas including my Companions. The remainder of the fighting men chose to be put to death rather than fight for me, a wish I granted them. One bloodrider had survived to be captured, and following the Dothraki way I ordered him impaled.

I then allowed my men to choose additional wives from the captured women, with those who had fought with notable valor in the just-concluded battle given first choice. Those who remained unselected would join the ranks of our slaves. The children were given to couples who wished them, again spread throughout the khalasar. It surprised me that so many wished to adopt children, and all of the young ones found new families.

“My chieftain,” Daenerys approached me after I had finished disposing of the prisoners. “Doreah says the women were raped after their capture.”

“I don’t know that for a fact,” I said. “And you shouldn’t listen to Doreah, as I’ve told you.”

“But is it true?”

“I suspect that it is,” I said, knowing it to be true for certain. “It’s their way. The victorious warriors and the defeated women all expect it.”

“So if we were defeated,” she said, “I would be raped? And it would be acceptable, because it’s the Dothraki way?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I will die to defend your honor, as will Belwas and even your handmaids. Or at least two of them. I promise you, you will never be raped.”

“How can you make such a promise, as you would be dead?”

She thought for a moment, and made the connection. My khaleesi, despite her ethereal beauty, was not stupid.

“You’ve ordered Belwas to kill me first.”

“No,” I said. “He needs no order, but would do so out of love.”

“Doreah says she’s been raped, and it really is worse than death.”

“You shouldn’t listen to Doreah,” I repeated. “You needn’t have such worries. You are khaleesi, with an entire khalasar ready to protect you.”

“Does the code of chivalry not command that all women receive the same protections as your wife?”

The unwritten code of chivalry, truth be told, said whatever the speaker wished it to in the moment he spoke. But I had always understood it to demand the defense of women. My princess had put me in a moral bind.

“It does,” I said. “The Dothraki act out of generations of following their own code.”

“You’ve brought them change, in the way they fight, and in the leader they follow. Surely you can change them in this way as well.”

She herself did not mind forcing our slave to perform acts of love, acts I knew that Doreah considered to be rape. But I did not point out her hypocrisy. Doreah was a debased whore, born into slavery, and despite being of the white race she could hope for no better lot than what she currently held.

The captured women had not been slaves, at least for the most part. They had been free women of the Dothraki, though bound to their men as natural law holds in any stable society. When I killed their men, or had them killed by my order, I took responsibility for them.

It would not be easy to dissuade the Dothraki from ravishing captured women; as they did not value money or possessions, rape was one of the central pleasures they took from conquest. While it shamed me to take moral direction from a woman, I had no argument against her point. As a man of honor, I was compelled to defend the honor of women, in particular those for whom I was responsible.

“Very well,” I said. “We will forbid rape. If necessary, we’ll establish brothels, where women will work for pay, of their own free will, signing contracts just like the soldiers. Rape will be punishable by removal of a hand. The Dothraki consider that worse than death.”

“Thank you, my chieftain. I knew your honor would win out.”

“It will not be an easy change, my princess.”

“Jhiqui told me that you’ve gained enormous respect after your victory. Now is the time to use that to bring greater change.”

I had long scorned politics as the refuge of weak men, like those who had chattered and argued rather than take firm action while the Confederacy collapsed. Yet I also knew that the boundary between political and military action could be very thin indeed. I did have a great deal of political capital at the moment. And I knew that every alteration to the old ways that I could make stick would enhance my authority just that much more. Until I made so many changes that the Dothraki struck back in violent rage.

* * *

We rested for two days to enjoy our victory, and then returned to our march toward the north-east. I summoned all three of my _ko_ s to ride with me at the head of the khalasar, along with Mormont, my khaleesi, her handmaids and her ever-present protectors Belwas and Calye. I knew Calye to be little help in case of violence, and perhaps even a hindrance, but it gave her a great sense of self-importance and in my weakness, I felt pity for the wretched woman.

“A successful battle,” I began. “We’ve taken prisoners, horses and weapons.”

“And women,” Aggo added, as I had prompted him before our meeting.

“Yes,” I said. “Women who are also subjects of the Stallion Who Mounts the World.”

“You do not wish them to be raped,” Pono said, making the mental leap far faster than I had expected.

“I do not,” I said. “We do not rape women of our khalasar, is this not true?”

“It is known,” Irri quickly inserted. Jhaqo glared at her, but mumbled the words along with the others.

“Yet now all are of our khalasar,” I said, “both Dothraki and Lamb Men.”

“It is known,” Irri and Doreah chanted together. The men followed once again.

“You speak truth,” Pono said. “Yet to have a woman, a new woman, that is the reward of victory. They are as slaves, who can be taken at will.”

The handmaidens remained silent.

“We fight for our women,” I said. “It is our duty.”

“It is known,” Jhaqo agreed, before Irri could speak again. “But these are not our women.”

“They are now,” I said. “They are not to be raped.”

“And if they give themselves willingly?”

“That is their right,” I said, knowing the Dothraki women to have little sense of propriety. Many would offer themselves, seeking food or protection; some likely would be depraved enough to seek pleasure in the act, something no proper woman would do.

“It is a hard thing,” Pono said, “to ask a man to give up what he has earned.”

“The Dothraki have their own women,” my princess interceded. “Why can they not satisfy their needs?”

Mormont reddened, unused to hearing women speak of sex, and in all honesty the topic discomfited me as well, at least within my wife’s hearing. Yet I was proud of my princess for speaking up for her own beliefs, childish as I found them. She had become far more assertive since our marriage, yet remained the perfect wife, never speaking stridently or making unreasonable demands of me. If she was harsh with her handmaids, they were her property and this was her right, though under both Dothraki and natural law alike all that she possessed was ultimately mine.

My _ko_ s found nothing unusual in her outspokenness.

“That is true, khaleesi,” Pono said. “But the taking of women after a victory is a different thing, a celebration.”

“Can you not celebrate with your wives and your other women? My husband has granted many of you second and even third wives, and surely there will be more as his victories increase.”

“It is part of conquest,” Pono said, having difficulty explaining what he considered to be the natural order of things. “You take an enemy’s life, then you take his woman. Is it not this way in your land, Khal John?”

“No,” I said. “The measure of a man is how he protects his woman from harm.”

This was not exactly true; during the late war both our own troops and those of the oppressive Northern regime had indulged themselves in rape. I had ordered more than one of my own troopers hanged for the crime, when the woman had been white. These women, of course, were not. But my princess did not seem to see this crucial difference.

Doreah snorted. All whores in this land were slaves; free will had nothing to do with their profession. She still believed my use of her to be rape, despite her status. His attention drawn, Pono looked over my lovely slave.

“You keep her for her tits,” he said to me, reverting to Dothraki. “And she is easy to look upon. But she is not Dothraki. She is a slave, to be taken at will.”

My bed-slave understood; apparently, she had taken to Jhiqui’s language teaching far more readily than had my princess. Doreah held up two fingers, a gesture Pono understood in its context, but he said nothing. Such impudence from a slave angered him, but he did not know how I might react were he to discipline her himself.

I would, I decided, have reacted harshly, though not for the reasons he imagined. Doreah did deserve discipline for offering the insult, but she remained a white woman despite her lowly station, while Pono for all of his good qualities was of a lesser race than she.

“Doreah,” I said, using a sharp tone. “You will come to me tonight to be disciplined.”

“Yes, my khal,” she said. She knew that such discipline would involve placing my manhood between her breasts, and while that thought revolted her, she knew it to be her duty whether I punished her or not. She fantasized riding away into the tall grass, perhaps to die in the waste. She considered that she might not mind, if it freed her from service to me.

“There will be no rape,” I decided. “It is as though one has stolen. A man who rapes, including one who assists in rape, shall lose his right hand. A woman who falsely accuses of rape shall lose her right hand. I have spoken.”

“The khal,” Irri said, “has spoken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter is The Stallion Who Mounts The World.


	33. Chapter Twenty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris sees a ghost.

Chapter Twenty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

A castle loomed out of the mist that Tansy and I assumed to be Winterfell, but Sabas told us that this was a smaller fortification known as Castle Cerwyn. We would spend the night here, and on the next day reach Winterfell.

Lady Jonelle Cerwyn, an unmarried, rather fat and plain-faced woman past the usual age of marriage, greeted us all warmly in her entry hall. A servant gave us each a small piece of bread, which we dipped into a bowl of salt and ate. This ritual would protect us under her roof. From her thoughts, I saw that Lady Jonelle had wavered in her allegiance during the recent wars, following whatever banner seemed ascendant at the moment. It appeared that she wavered in all things; at the moment, she could not decide if she truly welcomed us into her home or not.

“Have we met?” Maege asked her. “I do not seem to recall.”

“Only briefly,” Lady Jonelle said. “My father brought me to Winterfell for the great mustering, when King Robb called his banners.”

Her father had expected her to seduce Robb Stark, who was at least ten years younger than she, and then Lord Cerwyn would shame the young lord into marrying his daughter. It seemed a silly idea, but I recalled that the same trap had ensnared Robb Stark later and led to his death. I assumed that the merchant’s daughter he married had been more attractive than Lady Jonelle.

Maege introduced her daughters, naming Tansy her “dear friend” and myself a princess from Sothoryos ranging across Westeros to find her missing husband. A lady-in-waiting conducted us to a series of well-kept chambers, giving one to Tansy, Lyra, Jory, Trisha and I. Maids soon arrived with a bathtub and hot water. As usual I reveled in the feel of hot water on my skin.

I sat with Jory on the dressed stone before the fireplace, what is called the “hearth,” and we dried our hair as Tansy took her turn in the water. Jory had wrapped herself in towels; I as usual wore nothing. Maege entered our chambers, already clean, and sat between us.

“You’ve read Lady Jonelle’s mind?” she asked. She seemed nervous, a rare condition for the Lady of House Mormont.

“Somewhat,” I said. “She was made uneasy by our arrival. I did not read any more.”

“Do it now,” she said. “Please.”

I stared between my knees at the smooth wooden floor, where drops of water still fell from my hair. I concentrated and sought out Lady Jonelle.

“She speaks with a knight and a maester,” I said. “The maester is urging her to attack us now, while we are unawares. The knight is angry and calls this an offense to honor; he refuses to issue such an order. Lady Jonelle is nervous and does not know what to do.”

“Trisha,” Maege said. “Go to the barracks and tell Marsden to keep all the troops armed, armored and alert, ours as well as the Reeds and Glovers. Place two soldiers outside this door, armed and armored. Send one more to Lord Reed with word to remain alert. Do it now.”

Trisha slipped on her sword and slipped out the door.

“The maester claims that Ramsay Bolton will take vengeance if Lady Jonelle does not murder us,” I continued. “The knight is enraged, and says he will not perform a Red Wedding nor will his men. She understands him to mean the murder of guests. Lady Jonelle has told the maester to go. He apparently does not serve this castle, but another. Her own maester was murdered by the Boltons, and she misses his counsel.

“Lady Jonelle assures the knight that there will be no murder under her roof. He is only somewhat mollified, and very angry that she would even consider such an act.”

I looked up at Maege, sensing her disquiet.

“Anyone who seeks to harm you,” I said, “or your daughters, must come through me. They will not find that an easy path.”

“You’ve no part in this,” she said. “You can take your sister and ride away now if you wish.”

“My sister has chosen to stand with House Mormont. I will defend you, and your daughters, as best as I am able. I have spoken.”

I considered whether I should track down the knight and kill him before he could issue an order to attack the Cerwyn guests, but his thoughts showed him repulsed by the idea. As I followed his thoughts, he decided that he would counter-mand any such order from Lady Jonelle, thus sparing him from my sword.

“Thank you,” Maege said. “I’m invited to dine with Lady Jonelle. I’d like you to attend with me, if you would, and Trisha as our lady-in-waiting.”

“I shall do so,” I said, realizing that there was nothing she could ask to which I would not agree. “But I would prefer that Trisha and Lyra remain with Tansy and Jory.”

“Very well. I’ll leave you to get dressed for dinner.”

With the help of my sister and my friends, I put on a gambeson and a coat of ringed armor under a large brown dress with long sleeves, covered by a green cloak to hide my sword. I felt awkward and unattractive.

“Tell them you’re from Sothoryos,” Tansy said. “And you suffer from the cold.”

“I will clank when I move,” I said.

“No one expects an armored woman,” my sister said. “Just move carefully, unless you have to kill someone.”

“I will move faster without this,” I said, wriggling out of the armor. Lyra helped lift it over my head. “But I will take my sword.”

I put on a gray undergarment known as a “shift,” a less ugly brown dress, my sword and the cloak.

“Bar the door when I have left,” I told Trisha, who had just returned. “And kill anyone who attempts entry and is not me. I will monitor all of your thoughts and rush here at the first sign of trouble.”

“With Mother,” Jory said. “Don’t abandon Mother.”

“I will not.”

* * *

Lady Cerwyn herself led us to her private dining hall, where a knight named Ser Kyle joined us. Maege silently told me to stay by her side as we joined Lords Reed and Glover at the dining table. I scanned the nearby parts of the castle, the barracks in particular, and found no one preparing to attack us.

“It is a very quiet castle,” I said softly to Maege. “I feel very comfortable here.”

She understood my meaning as we took our seats; I made sure I was next to Maege yet close to the door leading into the castle. As Tansy suggested, I told our hostess that I found the weather very cold and asked her indulgence in keeping my cloak about me.

“We hear so little news,” Lady Jonelle began. She wondered how we had gotten past Moat Cailin and the Bolton-Ryswell army, and whether she should have barred her gates to us.

“Lady Sansa has summoned us to Winterfell,” Howland Reed said. He had no idea that we had all been in danger. “We bring the bones of Eddard and Arya Stark.”

“You marched past Moat Cailin?” Ser Kyle asked. He was a rugged-looking man, with black hair and a small beard. “It wasn’t garrisoned?”

“It was,” Lord Reed said. “We took it.”

“From the south?”

“Yes. Princess Dejah led the assault, and took all three towers.”

“You, Princess?” Ser Kyle asked me. “Forgive me, but few women go to war in our lands, other than those of House Mormont.”

“I was trained for war,” I said. “And I am very good at killing people. We also destroyed a small army of Bolton and Ryswell men, where I killed Ramsay Snow in single combat.”

I supposed this was close to the truth, but made the impression I desired.

“You killed Ramsay yourself?”

“Yes. I also killed one Ryswell twin in single combat. My friend Trisha killed the other.”

“I . . . I see.”

“Fifty-one of your house’s men fought with us. They performed bravely and well, and all have returned here safely. You may ask them if you do not believe me.”

“My apologies, Princess, I of course believe you.” He did not believe me, and planned to question his men. “I’m simply stunned to meet a . . . a woman of both beauty and martial skill.”

“You’re sure that Ramsay Bolton is dead?” Lady Jonelle broke in. She was terrified of him, and had sworn allegiance to his father. House Cerwyn had sent him a small number of troops, but they had returned after Moat Cailin’s fall to the Boltons. Those who had marched north with us had been at the so-called Red Wedding and escaped into the swamp lands. They had been as enthusiastic in the slaughter of the Bolton men as any of the others.

“He threatened to rape me and cut off my skin,” I said. “I cut off his head and punted it. I also killed his dogs and the women who called themselves his bitches. We cut off their heads as well.”

Lyra Mormont had killed two of the bitches, but I did not think this the time to delve into details.

“I saw her do it,” Lord Reed chimed in. “The Princess is an extraordinary fighter.”

“That puts it mildly,” Galbart Glover added. “I was proud to fight under her command.”

“I see,” Lady Jonelle said, glancing at her knight. They had apparently argued over whether to support the Boltons, with Ser Kyle wishing to reject Roose Bolton’s demands and Lady Jonelle fearing Ramsay Bolton’s wrath. He had already forced one aging heiress into marriage and cruelly murdered her, and she dreaded the same fate. “It seems you’ve overturned the politics of the North, Princess.”

“I was glad of Princess Dejah’s aid,” Howland Reed said. “And she was instrumental in winning two remarkable victories, with very few losses on our side. But Lady Sansa has already altered the situation, has she not?”

“She . . . yes. And we failed to aid her. She called again for our troops, just a short time ago, and I did nothing. My brother died trying to take back Winterfell, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m ashamed for my House.”

“Don’t be,” Maege said. I nodded slightly to her, and she continued. “You did the best you could for your people. It’s what you do next that matters. Join your men to ours and ride with us in the morning.”

“Very well,” Lady Jonelle said. “I believe Ser Kyle will be much relieved.”

“Very much, my lady,” he said, visibly and mentally relaxing. “It’s time that the North re-united.”

Lady Jonelle signaled to her servants, who brought out a very fine meal of roasted deer, which is called “venison,” along with several roasted game birds, potatoes and mushrooms. I enjoyed the food very much, but followed Maege’s lead regarding table etiquette and drew no unusual notice.

While we ate, Lord Reed described the battles at Moat Cailin and against the Ryswells for Ser Kyle, who expressed outward astonishment and inward relief. He had talked Lady Jonelle out of providing troops for the small army we had annihilated, and realized that he and his men easily could have died with the Bolton troops. As he looked at me, he noticed that my cloak’s hood covered the hilt of my sword, but he said nothing about it, considering that he likely would have died this night had he not prevailed over the evil maester.

I said little more, allowing the others to carry the conversation while I watched the thoughts of Lady Jonelle and Ser Kyle. I did not learn the identity of the mysterious maester, who I had determined must be found and killed. He had left the castle, or at least I could not detect his thought pattern.

Afterwards, I fell into bed with my sister, Lyra and Jory, awakening in the dark of night to switch places with Trisha who had watched over us. As morning neared, I roused Lyra and took her place between Tansy and Trisha, who had somehow managed to bathe during her watch and now smelled of flowers rather than horse. In the morning, after a First Meal including bacon but thankfully no eggs, we rode for Winterfell. Ser Kyle, Lady Jonelle and slightly more than four hundred Cerwyn soldiers joined us.

* * *

That afternoon we reached Winterfell, a castle somewhat smaller than Harrenhal but as with that huge ruin, one could see from some distance away that much of it had burned. Only a handful of guards in gray cloaks protected the gates; they greeted the swamp warriors with great enthusiasm.

An army camped outside the gates, and a much smaller encampment stood clearly separate from the main gathering. Most of the smaller army’s tents were empty, and someone had erected a large pile of wood with a wooden pole thrust upward from its center. Tents had been ranked closely together in the larger camp, surrounded by snow packed down by countless footsteps, with cookfires dotting the site.

The smaller camp had but one fire, with several poorly-dressed men huddled about it for warmth. Curious, I tested their thoughts and found them broken and bitter, abandoned by their leaders who apparently sheltered within the castle and left the men outside in the cold.

A small party met us just inside the gates, led by several men and women in Mormont family garb including a woman who looked very much like a younger version of Maege. She was pretty and brown haired, but shorter than Lyra or even Jory and much broader across the shoulders. She ran forward and embraced Maege tightly, then did the same to Lyra and Jory. I dismounted and Maege introduced us.

“My eldest daughter and heir, Alysane,” she said. “Princess Dejah Thoris, and her sister Tansy. They have become intimate friends of the Mormonts.”

She embraced me, and then Tansy.

“Then you’re my friends, too. Come.”

Alysane led us, along with Lords Glover and Reed and Lady Cerwyn, into a building she called the Great Hall, where the Lady of Winterfell greeted us very formally. Sansa Stark looked very much like a younger version of Tansy, not quite as tall but with the same blue eyes, slender build, strong shoulders and large breasts, and with more red in her hair. Next to her stood our friend Davos Seaworth.

We were introduced to many people. The tiny camp belonged to a man named Stannis Baratheon. He had been Davos Seaworth’s king; clearly something had changed. Stannis had probably been an attractive man in his youth, tall and broad-shouldered, but now he had lost much of his hair and looked like he suffered from chronic constipation.

By his side stood a woman dressed all in red, named by Sansa as the priestess Melisandre. She was beautiful, as tall as I with long copper-red hair, full breasts and pale skin. Melisandre wore a red dress of many filmy layers that did little to conceal her body, and a red jewel at her throat that seemed to pulse with its own light. She looked exactly like Kajas, except for her skintone. Her red eyes, not as dark as mine, kept casting glances at me as well, yet I found myself unable to read her thoughts. I could not avoid looking at her, and had to concentrate my thoughts to avoid staring. I had rarely been so consumed with lust for anyone, male or female.

I recalled Ser Davos’ descriptions of Stannis Baratheon. He had been brother to the former king, and declared himself king when his brother died. Stannis had discovered that his brother’s son was actually the child of Cersei and Jaime Lannister, and had risen in revolt against the Lannisters and their offspring. Stannis went on to lose battles, though everyone called him a great commander, and to alienate potential supporters.

For some reason he fought a battle with Ramsay Snow in which most of his army was wiped out. The remainder deserted, and now formed the majority of Winterfell’s small troop of guards. Stannis was a very angry man and resented everyone in the room for denying him his due. None of his troubles, he believed, were of his own making. He reminded me of Cersei without the magical breasts.

After Stannis had been routed, Sansa Stark somehow brought an army from the Vale and defeated Ramsay Snow’s troops, but not before he murdered her youngest brother. We had killed the last survivors of Ramsay Snow’s army in the forest glen where Lyra and I met Ramsay, his dogs and his bitches. I recalled Ramsay Snow’s disgusting memories of flaying the child’s skin from his body, but as I did not know whether these images represented fantasy or reality, I kept silent.

Sansa had just taken over the castle, which had been ruled by her father, a few days before calling on Howland Reed to march north. The large camp belonged to the Vale lords, who wished to return home as soon as possible. Sansa’s thoughts showed uneasiness about holding Winterfell without the support of the Northern lords, and she was very pleased to see that Howland Reed brought three more senior nobles with him.

Howland Reed now described how we had killed Ramsay Snow and his men. And then he told them that we had brought the bones of both Arya Stark and her father, Lord Eddard Stark, to be buried at Winterfell. Sansa Stark sat unmoving; her thoughts revealed her to be crushed that she had come so close to re-uniting with her sister yet had been denied.

Howland Reed went on to introduce us, naming Tansy as Tanith Tully rather than Rivers, and openly declaring her aunt to Sansa and Arya. Sansa said nothing to correct him and welcomed Tansy to Winterfell in a flat, unemotional voice. She thought only of her sister.

“How did Arya die?”

Howland Reed told the story of the fight in the roadside tavern just south of his lands, leaving out Arya’s childish enthusiasm and ninja play that had brought about her death. Only respect for the swamp lord kept many of those present from voicing their disbelief. Sansa Stark’s guard captain, a man named Hallis Mollen, could not hold his words.

“You, alone, killed Black Walder Frey and ten of his men? All armed, armored and alert?”

“Nine of his men,” I said. “Ten men counting Black Walder Frey.”

“My lady, I find that hard to believe,” Mollen said. “One woman killing one of the fiercest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms and nine armed men besides?”

Sansa Stark shared his doubts.

“You would have to have extraordinary skill with a blade, were those claims true.”

“I do,” I answered, feeling Melisandre’s gaze on me as I spoke. “They are.”

Davos Seaworth stepped forward.

“Lady Stark, if I might?”

She nodded.

“I saw Dejah Thoris fight the pirate king Aurane Waters. She stormed his flagship alone to rescue her sister. It had a crew of over three hundred men. When she was done Waters was dead, his crew dead or scattered, and his ship a burning hulk.

“Threaten those the princess loves and reap the whirlwind.”

“You believe these stories?” Sansa asked Howland Reed and Maege Mormont.

“She led our forces into battle against Ramsay Snow,” Howland Reed said. “She killed both of the Ryswell brothers in single combat, and she personally killed Ramsay Snow, who styled himself Ramsay Bolton.”

I had only killed one Ryswell, but did not wish to interrupt when I was receiving praise.

“I saw her capture Moat Cailin,” added the She-Bear. “Practically single-handed. From the south.”

“The word of Lord Reed and Lady Mormont is enough for anyone in the North,” said Sansa Stark. “Welcome, Dejah Thoris, and thank you for the wounds you took in defense of the Stark family. We owe you a debt.”

“There is no debt,” I said. “Arya Stark was niece to Tansy. It was my duty as Tansy’s sister.”

I placed my fist over my heart and bowed my head, the gesture we use to show respect in Helium. Sansa imitated it very solemnly.

After the ceremony, Davos Seaworth took Tansy and I to the Winterfell kitchens where we sat at a large table. He asked the cooks to bring us a steady stream of food, including bacon and wonderful fruit pies. He showed me how he still had his sword, and slid it slightly out of its scabbard to prove that he had kept it well-oiled.

“It is so good to see you girls,” he said. “And I know how you like your bacon, Princess.”

I smiled. Davos Seaworth had a fatherly affection for us, not knowing that I was at least 750 of their years older than he. I ate heartily, and Davos explained how he came to stand alongside Sansa instead of Stannis. He had taken ship to White Harbor as he had planned, and there was imprisoned by the lord of White Harbor’s men but escaped with the aid of the lord of White Harbor himself to join with Stannis and his army. The army became trapped in a winter storm, and began to run out of food. As the men starved, it seemed the entire army would perish. At that point the Red Priestess Melisandre offered up Stannis’ own daughter as a sacrifice to her god.

“Royal blood has some sort of special meaning to her demon-god,” he said. “They erected a pyre and burned the girl alive. She called to me for help, but Stannis’ soldiers had firm hold of me and made me watch. She was clutching a toy _I carved for her_.”

He paused and wiped his eyes. We each took one of his rough, hardened hands. He nodded his thanks and continued.

“The snows stopped and the frost kept the ground hard enough to permit the army to march. Stannis’ wife had urgently pressed for her own daughter to be burned in the ritual fires, but a day later she hanged herself in remorse. Fat lot of good that did.

“Stannis did nothing to stop it. Stannis agreed to allow sweet little Shireen to be murdered by the Red Woman. I objected, I screamed, I cursed. I did everything I could think of, even offering to burn in her place. The king had me imprisoned, but it was only a tent. I slipped off my bindings, stole a horse and rode here. I loved that girl. I could not serve that man any longer.”

“You are very good at escaping,” I said.

“Aye. It comes from having been a smuggler before I was the Onion Knight.”

“And now Stannis is here,” Tansy said. “How did he escape?”

“The Red Woman has powers; that I can’t deny. I suspect she somehow concealed his identity. They arrived together, with a handful of soldiers. All of those soon deserted. It’s been uncomfortable at times, but Sansa Stark rejects Stannis’ demands to have me executed. I’ve been helping her integrate stragglers from Stannis’ army into her own Winterfell guard. Soon I’ll take my son home and forget the game of thrones.”

“Your son?” Tansy asked.

“Devan. He was squire to King Stannis, and arrived here with him. He’s left the king’s service as well. Now that I have him back, my time in the North, and with Stannis, is done.”

Davos had not forgotten my quest; he had asked about the warriors in Stannis’ army as soon as he arrived, but only heard the usual exaggerated tales of the knights’ own great deeds. No one had encountered a warrior anything like John Carter.

“Wait. The Red Woman killed a girl?” Tansy asked. “Stannis’ daughter? And he let her?”

“Yes. And I saw the way she looked at your sister here. Predatory. You two be wary of her. She is far more dangerous than she looks. You saw the bonfire she’s built outside the walls? She wants another sacrifice, and you have royal blood, Princess.”

I did not doubt Ser Davos. But I wanted see Melisandre unclothed, to feel her skin against mine, her lips against mine. Yet while in his mind she remained beautiful, she did not resemble Kajas; the shape of her face, her breasts, seemed different. She reminded him instead of a lover he’d known long ago, in a city across the sea. I wondered how he could be so confused, but did not consider it important.

“And the princess was right about something else,” he went on. “There are no gods. But there surely are demons.” 

* * *

Tansy and I spent the rest of the day caring for our horses and looking about the castle while Lyra and Jory reunited with their sister. The work felt good; I had only rarely done such things as a princess and now they had become routine.

“What will you do now?” Tansy asked as we brushed down the animals.

“Finish here and perhaps see if we can bathe before Evening Meal.”

“No, I mean, now that you know John Carter won’t be found in the North.”

I straddled a very finely-made saddle stand that must have belonged to one of the Stark family and somehow had not burned during the sack of the castle. I thought for a moment and looked at Tansy.

“I do not care,” I said, “as long as it is with my sister.”

She came over and embraced me. “Me, too,” she told my neck. Then she let me go.

“But really, what will you do now? What will we do now?”

“Howland Reed believes I should fight some monstrous mythical being, the Night’s King. I do not know if I must to travel to the North or await the enemy here, but either way I am inclined to do so.”

“Why?”

My sister looked at me and then answered her own question.

“Lyra Mormont.”

“Yes. Jory also. And Maege. And Ser Davos. I am no longer disconnected from this world and its people. You were there; we could have left Castle Cerwyn but I chose to fight all of the Cerwyns to defend Maege.”

“Whatever you choose to do,” Tansy said, “I’ll be at your side. I’m glad you fought for the Mormonts.”

“You did not like it when I fought Crakehall.”

“I didn’t know what you could do with that sword,” she said. “And the Brotherhood wasn’t House Mormont. It just seemed right that you would draw your sword next to Lyra and Trisha. I watched the three of you dressed alike, ready for war, and you belonged with them. Yes, I was frightened for you, but I knew that you would make sure that all of you came back.”

“I am very good at killing people,” I said. “But it is likely that someday, a sword will find my breast. Even the poorest swordswoman can kill the greatest warrior, if luck is with her.”

“I can’t stop you from fighting. I know that now. The Mormonts have been so good to both of us, and I have nothing to offer in return.”

“That is not true,” I said. “You and I are sisters, and when I place my sword at their service, it serves for both of us. And were I to be killed, Maege would see that you are protected. You know this to be true.”

“I do,” she said. “But please stay alive all the same. So we stay here?”

“I suppose so,” I said, “until we hear more of this Night’s King.”

I did not mention my wish to see more of this woman who looked so much like my lost love, my Kajas.

“It feels strange to be in her home.”

“Your older sister?”

“You are my sister,” Tansy said. “Just ‘her’ will do.”

“You are not comfortable here?”

“I’m alright. You’re here. And Lyra. I don’t suppose I like her quite as much as you do,” Tansy looked at me sideways, smiling, “but she’s become a real friend like I haven’t had since childhood. And Maege is here, and Jory. I wish I’d been born a Mormont instead of a Tully.”

“If we asked,” I said, “Maege would allow us to live on their island. And I do like Lyra.”

“Just ‘like’ her?”

“I love her,” I admitted. “And I wish to engage in sex with her.”

I did wish to engage in sex with Lyra Mormont, though not as much as I now wished to with the priestess Melisandre. Who appeared, at least from her expressions, to be equally interested in me. Surely Ser Davos was mistaken about the danger she represented; there are no gods and there is no magic. She was simply a woman, a woman I found deeply desirable. I did not share this thought with Tansy.

“I know,” Tansy was saying. “Does she?”

“She likes us both very much, as does Jory. But she is not attracted to women, and does not see my attraction to her nor does she return it.”

Melisandre was clearly attracted to women, to me. And I returned it; she reminded me so much of Kajas. Somehow my desires for Lyra, and those that I still at times felt for Tansy, seemed far less intense.

“Does that bother you?”

“Only a little,” I said. “On Barsoom, she would know from my thoughts. You know that we do not crave sex as your people do, and I have her friendship, which I cherish. Does it bother you?”

“Am I jealous?” she smiled. “Only a little. In the adventure stories, women like women and men like men, whenever the storyteller wishes it so. Reality isn’t quite like that.”

“My romantic distress amuses you.”

“It’s good to see that you have a few human failings. Are they as good as they seem?”

“The Mormonts?” I clarified. She nodded. “Yes,” I answered. “They think me odd, but they like me and are awed by my fighting skills. They adore you, all of them do but Maege does in particular.”

Twice I had fought for House Mormont; while it had been Howland Reed who requested my aid, I knew why I had agreed. I liked the swamp lord, and felt gratitude for his treatment of my wound and fever, but it had been due to Maege Mormont and her daughters that I had become a participant in their war despite my determination not to play their game of thrones.

“It somehow feels like cheating, to preview others’ thoughts.”

“It makes for honesty in relationships,” I said. “This can be very painful as well.”

“No doubt. Do they know what I was?”

“Maege suspects. I doubt any of them care. They like you. It is always on your mind?”

“Always,” she said. “I’m not used to being liked. Not by women, anyway.”

“You do have a small number of qualities beyond your beauty.”

“Thank you,” Tansy smiled. “So do you. So we stay here?”

“What else would we do?”

“Go back to the beach, lie in the sun all day and have sex all night?”

“You said Winter would bring storms and make it too cold for the beach, and that we could not engage in sex until our encounter with Cersei had faded into memory.”

“I wasn’t serious,” Tansy said. “You’re a hero now, and a monster is coming. And I won’t be separated from my sister.” 

* * *

Sansa Stark assigned us a chamber in a tower that was only somewhat damaged. With Tansy, I explored the castle, much of which remained under repair. We found the library, which had survived Winterfell’s burning, where Tansy hoped to find another book of stories that she could read to me. Melisandre stood by the reading desks, as though she had expected us.

“Princess,” she greeted me. She had a throaty voice that reminded me once again of my lost sister. “Lady Tully.”

We returned her greeting, and Tansy went into the rows of bookshelves to find the volumes she sought. Melisandre stepped close to me, and ran her finger down the inside of my right arm, where Tansy could not see. This close, she smelled of exotic spices; I could see the outlines of her body through the filmy red dress she wore. I felt inadequate in the plain, homespun brown of my own dress.

“I saw you looking at me,” she whispered. “Don’t deny what we both want. I can give you back what you’ve lost.”

She kissed me under my right ear, where Kajas always had, and lightly touched my breast with her hand.

“I’ve marked you,” she said, in her soft, erotic voice. “You’re mine now. We’ll be together again soon.”

My knees felt weak. Her hair had dark highlights, just like Kajas’ had. I desperately wanted to kiss her.

“I hope we can speak at length,” Melisandre said aloud. “I’m afraid my king has need of more counsel now.”

“That is one strange woman,” Tansy said, returning to my side as the door closed behind the priestess. “Davos was right about her.”

I said nothing, remembering the brush of her fingers; I could feel my nipples tingle again as I thought of her kiss, her touch.

“Are you all right?” Tansy asked. “That bitch didn’t put some spell on you, did she?”

“There is no magic,” I said. “Only memory. She reminds me of someone I once knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris acquires a purple gown.


	34. Chapter Twenty-Five (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris gains a new family.

Chapter Twenty-Five (Dejah Thoris)

I tried to divert myself, training with Lyra and Trisha in Winterfell’s practice ground, where the small garrison left a great deal of unused space. My longing for Lyra Mormont remained, yet I could think of little but Kajas’, Melisandre’s, lips on my skin, on my breast. I had never felt this sort of physical urgency on Barsoom.

Sansa invited Tansy and I to join her for Evening Meal on the following night. We had nothing to wear but simple brown dresses; Sansa insisted that we needed nothing more and wore one herself to make us feel at ease.

“I know you’ve been travelling,” she said. “And fighting. It’s just family here so we can relax.”

We dined in her private chambers, on what she called simple fare though I found it very good indeed. I followed Tansy’s silent instructions and restrained myself from eating as I pleased.

“I’m sorry if I seemed cold upon meeting you both,” she said. “Between the news of Rickon’s death, followed by Arya’s. And then Stannis Baratheon’s constant, ridiculous demands to be treated as a king. It’s all been very difficult.”

“You have regained your home,” I said. “That is no small thing.”

“No, it’s not. Yet it was the thought of re-uniting my family that drove me. And then they died before they came home. All but one.”

She looked at my sister, and smiled.

“Mother never mentioned you,” Sansa said to Tansy. “You’re younger than she was, but older than my Aunt Lysa. You were my grandfather’s bastard?”

“Yes,” Tansy said. Though I could not read my sister’s thoughts without forcing my way through her defenses, I knew that the question hurt her.

“Please don’t be upset,” Sansa said. “I treated my brother, my half-brother, horridly because he was a bastard. All because Mother did so. She was cruel to you?”

“Yes.”

“Tansy,” Sansa said, placing her hand over my sister’s. “You’re my aunt, and we’re family. You’re all the family I have left, with Jon at the Wall and Bran lost . . . somewhere. When I’m crowned Queen of the North, I’ll legitimize you right away. I don’t know what Mother did to you, but I’ll do whatever I can so that we can be a family, as we should be.”

“I know it’s not your fault,” Tansy said. “It’s just a very old hurt, and . . .”

She began to cry. Sansa stroked her shoulder, and looked at me.

“It is not my place to say,” I said, unsure what I should do.

“Tell her,” Tansy said.

“Tansy became very close with Arya during our journey,” I said. “In her last moments, Arya mistook Tansy for her mother. She died calling her ‘Mama’.”

“I wanted it to be true,” Tansy rasped out. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted.”

Sansa stood and extended her hands to pull Tansy to her feet, and tightly embraced my sister. She wept just as freely. I felt very awkward, in a place where I did not belong. I rose to leave.

“Stay,” Sansa said. “You’re her sister. That makes you part of my family.”

We remained in Sansa’s chambers until morning. My sister and her niece clung to each other and spoke in whispers, while I curled up on the thick fur of a wolf spread before the fire and slept. Some hours later I rose to find them asleep in Sansa’s bed, still fully clothed, and I ate the rest of our dinners. Even cold, I found the food very satisfying.

* * *

Later that morning Sansa came to our chambers along with a friend she introduced as Myranda Royce. Myranda was a pretty woman of an age older than Sansa but younger than Tansy, and much shorter than any of us. She had dark hair and breasts the size of Cersei’s but without their gravity-defying powers; they hung very low on her chest. To display them, she wore a dress cut lower than any I had yet seen on this world.

Servants followed the two young women, carrying heaps of clothing of many colors.

“I am to be formally invested as Lady of Winterfell,” Sansa explained. “And I want you both to attend. That means you’ll need proper attire. I know it’s presumptuous but I really do want family there. Myranda has convinced me that we should not be wearing mourning colors for the feast and dancing. There’s been too much of that here.”

“We get to play dress-up,” Myranda added. “This will be fun. Send the maids away, Sansa.”

Myranda Royce, Randa as she preferred, wanted to be friends with both of us. I found that I liked her very much already. She had me stand still in front of a long mirror while she placed dresses in front of me. Sansa did the same for Tansy. I felt stiff and awkward.

“Surely you did this as a little girl?”

“I practiced with swords,” I said. “Sometimes I played with my pet.”

“Well,” Randa said, “we’re going to make you beautiful. More beautiful. Let me find the right colors to go with that tanned skin.”

Sansa had found a gown for Tansy, and had her sit in front of a mirror while Sansa brushed her hair. The previous night had put them greatly at ease with one another, though I did not understand how they could do so without telepathy.

“I used to do this for my mother,” Sansa told my sister. “You have hair a little darker than hers, but it reminds me of her. I am so glad to have found you. My actual aunt, I mean, my . . .”

“It’s alright,” Tansy said, “I know what you mean.”

“My Aunt Lysa tried to throw me out of a trap door over a thousand-foot drop.”

Meanwhile Randa went through several long dresses with full sleeves, called gowns, and placed one in front of me made of a fine, smooth material she called silk. It was red, and I liked the way it highlighted my eyes. I liked it more than I had any clothing I’d seen on this planet, except perhaps Taena Merryweather’s red pirate-queen outfit, but Sansa did not.

“Those are Lannister colors. I should have had it burnt.”

Randa frowned and went back to one in gray.

“Stark colors, Sansa?”

“That’s better. Try it on her.”

I was wearing a shapeless garment they called a “shift.” I took it off and stood naked in front of the mirror. I had lost some weight, I noticed. I needed to eat more.

Randa looked me over then turned to Sansa.

“You were wrong,” Randa told her. “The tan goes everywhere.”

She looked at me again.

“There’s no shame in nudity in your land?”

“None,” I said. “It is simply a body.”

“Simply? If mine looked like that, I’d walk around naked all the time too.”

“We usually wear more than that under our gowns,” Sansa said. “Let me get you some smallclothes.”

She gave me white underclothing, made of a smooth cloth called “silk.” I pulled it on with only a little direction, and then Randa put the gown on me.

“That gray doesn’t work, Sansa.”

“Do you have anything in black?” I asked.

All three of my companions stopped as if suddenly frozen, and stared at me.

“It would match my hair and . . .” I began, before realizing that I had committed some sort of cultural trespass.

“We don’t wear black,” Sansa said. “It’s the color of death and mourning.”

“I am sorry,” I said. “To us it is just another color, suitable for all occasions.”

I felt ashamed at having darkened the mood in the room, even inadvertently. My telepathy had given no warning, but I could have been more careful before blurting out my question.

“It’s alright,” Randa whispered. She pulled out another gown, but I saw what I wanted and pointed.

“That one. Purple.”

“Objections, Lady Stark?”

“None,” Sansa told Randa. “Dress her in purple.”

Having fitted Tansy in a color she called turquoise blue, Sansa left us while my gown was still only partially complete. Tansy looked truly beautiful, with her reddish hair now fully combed out and flowing down the front of the gown. Randa continued to pin my gown’s silk and satin into place. She gently took hold of the panel covering my chest.

“This seems much too modest,” she said. “How do you feel about losing it?”

“A woman of my country is proud of her breasts,” I said. “Show as much of them as you feel appropriate.”

She laughed. It was a good, throaty laugh.

“You're my kind of woman. I like to show mine, too.”

“I had not noticed.”

“I appreciate a dry wit. Hold still.”

She deployed a very small cutting instrument to remove the panel, and Tansy pinned the edges back where Randa indicated.

“Sansa doesn’t have a maid who can really do fine work like this,” Randa said, “so I may have to do this myself, or get Sansa to do it. You don’t do sewing or needlework, do you?”

“Needle work?” I asked.

“I didn’t think so. We’ll hem this like so, and give you really fine cleavage. You don’t even need a corset. I might regret this; the Vale knights may stop looking at me.”

She reached into the gown and cupped my left breast in her hand.

“How do you get them to stay so perky?”

Explaining the side effects of Barsoom’s lower gravity seemed inadvisable.

“Diet and exercise.”

She let out another of her wonderful laughs. I liked Randa very much. But then Sansa’s lone lady-in-waiting, a slender woman named Jeyne Poole who rarely spoke, threw open the door.

“Randa,” she said, breathing hard. “Come quick. Sansa’s in trouble. At the entrance to the godswood.”

Myranda ran out the door. Tansy and I gathered up our skirts and followed. I kicked off the shoes Randa had put on me; even so, it was difficult to run in these heavy dresses with still more skirts under them. I do not know how the women of this planet can tolerate them. We kept Randa barely in sight, and at the edge of the castle’s big courtyard we found a group of angry people milling about. 

* * *

Sansa stood to one side, surrounded by her Winterfell guards, some of Howland Reed’s swamp warriors and the House Mormont and Glover fighters. Maege Mormont, Kyle Condon and Galbart Glover stood between Sansa and a thin man with an even thinner line of hair along his top lip. His hair was black and oiled straight back. I did not like him. Behind him stood a number of the Vale fighters, but some seemed more eager to fight each other than to engage the Winterfell men and their allies.

Maege had her mace in one hand, slowly dropping its head into her open palm. She was the only person actually displaying a weapon, but many hands had been placed on the hilts of swords. I desperately missed my own blade and felt foolish for having run out of the castle wearing only my pretty new purple gown. I carefully held its edges away from the dirty ground. Lyra and Alysane joined us, but not Jory. I scanned for her thoughts and found her watching from a nearby doorway. Trisha had not allowed her to run out into the courtyard.

Tansy identified the thin man as Petyr Baelish, the Lord Protector of the Vale. She hated him; so did Randa. He had apparently just arrived in Winterfell with a small entourage. His first act had been to march into the Great Hall and attempt to drag Sansa into the small forest where the Northern people worshipped their tree-god, and forcibly marry her there. It seemed that he had brought Sansa under his will while he had held her captive, and was surprised when she rejected his demands for immediate marriage upon his arrival in Winterfell. Baelish proceeded to marry her anyway, but had been stopped by some of the Vale lords from the army camped outside the walls. Other Vale lords, it appeared, supported Baelish. Some political intrigues I did not understand were also involved.

And then we had arrived; Sansa had not been out of our sight for what they called an hour before drama had erupted. Sansa seemed upset, and Randa had gathered her into her arms.

“You’ve gone too far, Baelish,” said an older man wearing bronze armor. “The Lords Declarant have already suspended your powers in the Vale. What did you think to do, seize the North next?”

These “Lords Declarant” apparently were leading nobles who had overthrown Baelish’s rule in the Vale. The bronze man’s anger made it difficult to tease out more detail from his thoughts; he kept imagining cutting off Baelish’s head.

“Sansa Stark is my betrothed,” Baelish said. “I have done no more than to claim what is rightfully mine.”

“You’re a fugitive, Baelish,” the bronze lord went on. “You’re already sought in the Vale. You should have escaped to the Free Cities, enjoyed your brothels and forgotten about Catelyn Tully.”

Catelyn Tully? The Stone Heart?

“Petyr Baelish is Littlefinger,” Tansy whispered. “The man who . . .”

I remembered. Petyr Baelish had carried unrequited love for Catelyn Tully from an early age and later paid Tansy to pretend to be her older sister in his sex games. Apparently, he had transferred his unrequited love to Catelyn Tully’s daughter after she died. Once again, this seemed to be the only sort of love these people knew.

I decided to kill Littlefinger at the first opportunity. Sansa stepped away from Randa, having recovered from her shock.

“Lord Royce,” she addressed the bronze lord. “I thank you for your intervention. Any marriage conducted under duress would have been invalid by law.”

“Or by instant widowhood,” Maege added.

“Yes,” Sansa said. “That as well. Be that as it may, we must deal with Lord Baelish, and I want to bring an end to this now.”

Sansa Stark was young, less than ten of their years older than Arya, but faced Petyr Baelish bravely.

“I am the Lady of Winterfell, she said. “And I charge you with kidnapping and fraud, and with the murder of Robert Arryn and Lysa Arryn, and with conspiracy in the murders of Jon Arryn, of Joffrey Waters and Ser Dontos Hollard.”

“That is quite a list of evils, my lady. I assume you have proof? Witnesses?”

“I do. I witnessed much of it myself.”

“And you are also the one laying charges,” Petyr Baelish sneered. “But I will make this simple. I demand trial by combat.”

“King Tommen,” said the bronze lord, “outlawed trial by combat.”

“His laws went out the window when he did. It is my right and I demand it by right. And I name Ser Lyn Corbray as my champion. Who will fight for you, my lady?”

Baelish smiled an oily smile. I liked him even less.

A tall knight, also slender, strode out from behind the Vale men to stand next to Baelish.

“As the challenged,” he said in a loud voice “I name the sword as the weapon of choice. All here know my sword.”

His thoughts showed supreme confidence; he had fought often in single combat and seemed eager to be rewarded. He then thought very graphically of his rewards: young boys delivered for his pleasure by Baelish. It appeared that the Holy Hundred were not alone in their twisted sexuality. Had I landed on a planet where only the perverts fulfilled their desires and everyone else mooned away for the love they could never have?

The small cluster of Winterfell soldiers looked at one another uneasily. By their thoughts, this Lyn Corbray was a renowned killer of men. Sansa’s thoughts showed deep disappointment that one of the Vale knights did not step forward to fight for her, a stocky man with gray hair and a smashed nose. She tried to catch his eye but he looked away. His thoughts indicated shame, and the anticipation of a large sum from Baelish in exchange for his inaction. It seemed that Littlefinger had planned ahead for all contingencies.

Maege Mormont pulled me to her side.

“Princess?” Sansa Stark asked.

I had not come here to play their game of thrones, but I felt a heavy guilt for encouraging Arya to fight, even if it was by example rather than by word. And Sansa appeared to have no one who stood a chance against Lyn Corbray. If I said nothing, a loyal soldier would die for her today - possibly Trisha or even Lyra - and an evil man escape punishment. It was a poor exchange, but I could give her a life for a life.

“If you kill Corbray,” Maege whispered, “Littlefinger will be executed.”

I saw in her thoughts that Tansy had shared the story with her as well. And now the fight became personal.

“I,” I said aloud, “will kill this raper of boys.”

“You?” Baelish sneered. “You don’t even know how to wear a gown. Do you know this is a fight to the death?”

I looked down. My neckline was indeed crooked, still bearing the pins Tansy and Randa had placed in it, and my bare feet showed under the bottom of the very wide skirt.

“I defeated the Mighty Pig,” I said. “I killed the Lord of the Waters and sank his pirate ship. I captured Moat Cailin, from the south. I killed Black Walder Frey, Ramsay Snow and the Ryswell brothers. And I will kill you, Lyn Corbray.”

“The Mighty Pig?” Baelish now laughed. Corbray and some of the Vale knights joined in.

“Strong Boar Crakehall,” Tansy clarified. “Heard of him?”

The Vale men grew silent. I felt a jolt of fear run through Petyr Baelish. He knew that Strong Boar had fought an unknown woman, and lost. He also knew that Aurane Waters and Black Walder Frey had each been killed by a woman, but had not known that they might all have died or been defeated at the hands of the same woman. He chose not to share this information with his champion.

“She’s insane,” Baelish said instead. “You would let a madwoman die for your foolishness, sweetling?”

Sansa stepped over to me and quietly asked, “Can you win?”

“Yes,” I replied in an equally hushed tone. “I am very good at killing people. Let me do this for you.”

“This woman is not of the North,” Baelish spoke up, grasping for any reason to disqualify me from this fight. “She can’t represent you, Sansa dear. She has no standing to fight for you.”

“She and her sister are adopted daughters of House Mormont,” Maege shot back. “No House is more of the North.”

I was now her daughter? I felt a tightness grow in my chest and throat.

“Sister?” Baelish asked, looking at Tansy. “I know you. One of Chataya’s whores, wasn’t it? ‘Finest tits in Westeros,’ that was your claim. Did this ‘sister’ of yours and her own fine tits work with you?”

He did not seem aware that Tansy was actually Catelyn Tully’s half-sister, only that she greatly resembled her.

“If you live, Baelish, you’ll have to deal with me,” Maege said. “I won’t tolerate such insult to my house.”

“You did that yourself, claiming these whores as your daughters. I suppose they fit in well with the rest of your spawn.”

Maege made to advance on Baelish, but I placed my hand on her arm.

“You know who I am,” I said to Littlefinger, locking my eyes onto his. In his thoughts, my red eyes terrified him; that seemed a common reaction here. “And you know what I will do to Lyn Corbray. Spare his life and confess your crimes.”

“I’ve never seen you before,” he said, clearly nervous. “You have no squire. Do you even own a sword?”

“I will squire for my adopted sister,” Lyra Mormont moved next to me and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Here we stand.”

I understood that each noble house had its own motto, called its “words,” and these had special meaning. Lyra’s reciting “Here we stand” confirmed my Mormont status.

“Don’t worry, Baelish,” Corbray said. “I’ll kill the bitch. Both bitches, if you’d like.”

That word again.

“Princess Dejah Thoris is accepted as the Champion of Winterfell,” Sansa declared in a surprisingly strong voice. “Lady Lyra Mormont as her squire. Combat to take place in the main courtyard in two hours’ time.” 

* * *

Tansy and Lyra followed me back to our room. I wriggled out of my gown and hung it very carefully in an alcove apparently intended for that purpose, then began to put on my leather fighting harness and leggings as I had for the match with the Mighty Pig.

“Is it true,” Lyra asked Tansy, “what that rat-fucker out there said?”

“Yes.”

She put both hands on Tansy’s face.

“You heard my mother. We’re sisters now. I don’t care what you were. Only what you are.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Tansy said. “Focus on Dejah.”

Lyra turned to me.

“I have never been so eager to see someone die.”

“He will die,” I said. “Both of them will die.”

“Good. I think I need to send for my armor.” Lyra wore a simple green tunic with the brown bear of her, now our, house, stitched on the front, over tight black leggings. “It’s in our rooms.”

“You should match Dejah,” Tansy said. “I have a leather harness like hers. It should fit you. If you’re not too modest.”

Tansy smiled slyly.

“I see we have some work to do before you two are fully Mormonts,” Lyra said very solemnly, then laughed. She reached down and pulled off her tunic; she wore nothing under it. I had seen her unclothed before, and felt her press against me during the night, but for a moment I forgot about Melisandre and her resemblance to Kajas. I could not allow myself to be distracted, and checked my sword instead. It was, of course, in perfect condition.

“Have you fought in such a battle before?” I asked Lyra, who seemed unaware of my gaze.

“No, but I’ve watched them.”

“Who will you fight?” I asked. “Do we fight together, or separately?”

“I probably won’t fight at all. Corbray’s squire has the right to challenge me when his knight is killed. It doesn’t change the verdict, but it allows the squire to leave the field with his honor intact.”

“And if I am killed?”

“You won’t be,” Lyra said, very firmly. “I’ve sparred with you and fought by your side. I’ve never seen anyone as fast or as strong, man or woman. And I’d be really shocked if Corbray’s squire wished to fight me. He’s a boy of maybe a dozen years, small and not even pimpled yet. Corbray took him on for the money – the boy’s family paid well to have him squire for a famous knight.”

“You knew this when you stood by me.”

“Well, yes,” she said. “Randa told me. But I would have stood by you anyway. ‘Here we stand’ and all that.”

“What are the rules of this fight?”

“Well,” Lyra began slowly. “It’s said to be to the death, but either can yield. The opponent isn’t required to accept it but they almost always do. Corbray named the weapon, swords. Other accoutrements are up to the participant, you know, a shield or armor.”

“I use neither,” I said. “Only the gauntlets.”

“We can send for Jory’s mail again if you’d like.”

“Thank you, no. He carries a Valyrian blade; ringed armor will make no difference.”

“You should wear this more often,” Tansy told Lyra as she finished adjusting the harness. “It really shows you off.”

“It’s a little much even for a Mormont,” she said, then blushed. “Sorry.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I know that my ways are different.”

Tansy hefted my hair, still worn in a single heavy braid like Lyra’s, then dropped it.

“Probably best to leave it this way,” she said as she weaved a blue ribbon - the color of Helium - into the braid. She added a matching blue ribbon to Lyra’s similar braid.

“Anyway,” Lyra continued. “I feel better with armor on. Lady Stark liked to say that a lady’s armor is her courtesy, whatever the hells that meant, but I like to feel a little mail and plate between my skin and the enemy.”

“Does it not slow you down?” I asked.

“We were fast enough when we faced Ramsay Bolton’s army.”

I paused and considered her point.

“That is true, but we faced enemy arrows. There will be none today.”

“It’s only an opinion,” Lyra said. “Don’t change what makes you comfortable.”

Maege entered our chamber, accompanied by Jory and Trisha.

“I’m sorry to have put you on the spot like that,” Maege said. “But I’m glad of the excuse to name you daughter. Do you accept?”

“Of course I do,” I said, embracing her. “I would do anything you asked.”

Tansy embraced her as well, whispering thanks into her ear.

“We must return to Lady Sansa’s side,” Maege said. “The gods go with you.”

Jory embraced me silently, as did Trisha. Somehow, she smelled of flowers again. “Kill him,” she whispered. “It’s the only way to be sure Littlefinger dies.”

“What was it you were worried about?” Lyra asked Tansy as the door closed behind them.

“Nothing,” Tansy said. “Nothing at all. Only Dejah’s safety, and yours.”

Sansa’s lady-in-waiting knocked on the door. I pulled my sword belt over my shoulder and shrugged it into place.

“I’ll need my sword,” Lyra said. “Wait for me inside the tower. We need to enter the yard together.”

Tansy and I stood inside the large wooden doors leading into the heavy stone tower called the “keep.” The large entry hall was empty except for us and Sansa’s very quiet lady-in-waiting, Jeyne, who sat nearby but did not speak. I stretched the muscles in my arms and legs while we waited, scandalizing the silent Jeyne with my unladylike motions.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tansy said.

“I do,” I said. “Sansa is your niece, your family. I will fight for her as I would for you.”

“I know,” my sister said. “I just feel like I have to say that.”

“You are right. I do not have to. I will kill Lyn Corbray, and through him Petyr Baelish, because I wish to do so. For you, your family, and our new family.”

Lyra rushed in, holding her sword in her hands. She pulled its belt over her shoulder to match my style.

“How do we look?” she asked Tansy.

“Like sisters,” she answered, adjusting Lyra’s sword-belt. “Twins, almost, except for Dejah’s skin and darker hair.”

That pleased me.

“Good,” Lyra nodded. “Sansa needs us to make an impression.” She turned to me. “We’ll walk out together, and I’ll accompany you into the fighting area. It’s called a ‘ring” but it’s probably not round. Leave the marked area and you lose both the fight and your honor.”

Jeyne made a coughing sound. We all turned to look at her.

“Lady Sansa bids her aunt Lady Tanith to join her on the reviewing stand.”

“Dejah?” Tansy asked.

“Lyra will be with me, and I would rather have you away from the actual fight.”

“I need to be with you if . . . you know.”

“I trust Lyra, and I will fight better knowing you to be safe. Stay close to Trisha, and do whatever she says if there is trouble, without question. Watch over Sansa and Jory.”

“I will,” she smiled, “but I haven’t forgotten my sister. Sisters.”

She turned to Jeyne. “Is it time?”

Jeyne nodded, and they left. Lyra faced me, clapped her hands onto my shoulders and looked into my eyes. Few women of this planet had the height to do so. I wished to kiss her, but maintained what I thought was a solemn expression.

“We’re family now,” she said. “Let’s show them how Mormont women fight.”

She shoved the doors open and we walked out in step, shoulders back and taking long strides. I knew from the thoughts of the large crowd that we appeared beautiful and deadly. That made me calm and confident.

People filled the castle courtyard and also looked down from the walkways along the walls, the windows of buildings and towers and even from some of the rooftops. I could not see or detect Melisandre or Stannis; they must have returned to their pitiful camp outside the walls.

The Winterfell servants had set up posts connected by rope to mark off the fighting arena. Red ribbons had been tied to the rope to make it more visible. Lyra pulled the rope upward and I ducked under it; she followed and stood beside me.

Lyn Corbray wore no armor, only a tight-fitting white tunic with black birds clutching a red shape embroidered on it, and tight white leggings. He had white lace around the cuffs of his sleeves and his collar. He carried no shield.

Sansa Stark marched firmly to the center of the open arena and again read out the charges against Petyr Baelish, and affirmed that the fight would be either to the death or until one combatant yielded. She returned to a wooden platform set at the edge of the arena where one of the large chairs from Winterfell’s Great Hall had been placed. Petyr Baelish sat next to her in a smaller chair, with Mollen standing behind him. Davos and Howland Reed stood to either side of Sansa, with Tansy, Lord Glover, Lady Jonelle, Ser Kyle and Maege nearby. Alysane, Trisha and Jory stood at the edge of the platform, with Marsden and Jarack directly below them on the ground.

“You may begin,” Sansa said.

Lyn Corbray’s thoughts exuded extreme confidence. He still did not believe that I was a fighter at all, assuming that I really was insane, or possibly a freak-show performer hired by Sansa Stark. He waved his sword through complex evolutions, and I discerned that they most definitely did follow a pre-determined pattern. I stood at ease watching him as he walked to the center of the arena with small, mincing steps.

I shrugged my sword-belt off my shoulder and held the scabbard in both hands with my sword still inside; it would not do to have it hang up awkwardly when it came time to draw. Lyra stood two steps to my right and two steps behind, mimicking my stance. She now took her own sword in her hands. Her thoughts revealed some concern for me, but she had confidence in my fighting skills. She liked me. That made me happy, but I thrust those feelings away – I had a man to kill.

Corbray proceeded to give a speech about his sword, which he named Lady Forlorn. It was of Valyrian steel just like my blade, but he was not yet aware of that – I did not wish Corbray to know that I wielded a Valyrian sword. He spoke of the many foes he had killed with Lady Forlorn, and the many foes killed by his ancestors wielding the sword.

His thoughts still radiated sheer contempt; he planned to toy with me, humiliate me, and possibly cut my harness away before forcing me to beg for my life but running his sword through my heart, or where he believed my heart lay, anyway. The idea of killing a woman aroused him; if Lyra rushed to my side as I died, he planned to kill her as well. My very existence, a woman claiming that she could fight, offended him as did Sansa Stark’s pretension to rule here. He would put us both in our places.

Other thoughts showed Baelish fighting to hold back abject terror, while I picked up a number of Mormont and Glover soldiers placing large wagers on the outcome of the fight with the Vale men. They had great confidence in me, having seen me dispatch the Ryswells and destroy Moat Cailin.

I knew from Corbray’s practice patterns, his lack of armor and his plan for the combat that he considered himself extremely fast with the blade. I probably could match his speed, and I had a great deal of experience given that I had lived at least 10 times his lifespan, in a culture every bit as violent as his. Beyond that, I had been tutored by the self-proclaimed greatest swordsman on two worlds. Though his boasting eventually came to greatly annoy me, John Carter’s skill with a blade could not be disputed.

Even so, taking one’s opponent lightly is the path to an early death. I had already been down the River Iss once and had no intention of taking whatever mythical journey these people embarked upon after their lives ended. I studied Corbray and chose my response: a tactic John Carter scorned as the “bull rush.” It bothered me that I would begin the fight without the ritual challenge, and I desperately wished to trail my fingers through the dust of the courtyard. But that would give warning, and I intended that my opponent have none. I was not here to engage in sport; I had come to kill this man.

As Lyn Corbray continued his speech, he struck a pose with his sword extended toward me in his left hand; like me, he could fight with either. I charged directly at him, drawing my sword as I moved forward, dropping my scabbard and striking downward on his blade all in one motion. The tip of his sword dug into the ground and he had no time to react as I lowered my right shoulder and crashed into his chest. He fell onto his back and I swiftly pinned his sword arm with my right foot. I ran him through with my blade as he lay before me, twisted it and pulled it free with an involuntary snarl. Not counting his posturing, the “fight” had lasted less than ten seconds.

The crowd stared in utter silence.

“That was ill done,” the bronze lord was the first to speak. “He had no chance to yield. She gave no warning that she also wields Valyrian steel.”

I stood over Corbray’s corpse and stared directly at the bronze lord, locking my eyes onto his. To his credit, he held my gaze at first though like Petyr Baelish during the earlier confrontation his thoughts revealed terror. Then, knowing that he courted death, he looked away. It was a petty gesture, and my satisfaction quickly gave way to shame.

Now the hubbub resumed as people argued over what they had just seen. Corbray voided his waste while I wiped my sword on his white tunic. Corbray’s young squire approached tentatively, looking to see if his master lived and trying not to cry. Lyra joined me.

“Well?” she asked the squire as her fingers danced on the hilt of her sword. He shook his head, turned, and fled into the crowd.

My own squire put her hand on my shoulder and leaned into my ear as I finished cleaning my blade and returned it to its scabbard.

“You,” she whispered, “are a true Mormont.”

I picked up Corbray’s weapon; Lyra detached its scabbard from Corbray’s sword belt and handed it to me. I slammed the blade home with a satisfying smack and stalked back to the tower containing our bedchamber. Lyra fell into step beside me and the crowd parted for us. Behind us, I heard Sansa proclaiming a sentence of death for Petyr Baelish. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris has a nighttime visitor.


	35. Chapter Twenty-Six (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which true love's kiss breaks a spell.

Chapter Twenty-Six (Dejah Thoris)

Inside the Great Keep, I leaned against the heavy doors and felt the adrenaline drain from my body.

“I just killed a man,” I said. “Moments ago, he was an arrogant, strutting fool, but he lived. Now he is nothing. All he will ever be is leaking into the dirt and the shit.”

“Dejah,” Lyra said, placing her hand along the side of my face. Her touch felt electric on my skin. “It had to be done. I’m very proud to call you sister. You’ll feel better when we’ve changed out of these.”

We climbed the stone steps to the chambers I shared with Tansy, and as Lyra had suggested we pulled off our harnesses. I donned a brown dress, while Lyra returned to her Mormont colors. Tansy, Sansa Stark and Myranda Royce entered soon afterwards. Lyra left to put away her sword.

“Dejah, that was . . .” Sansa floundered for words. “Unbelievable. Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m free of Petyr because of you.”

“He is not dead yet.”

“The execution will take place at dawn tomorrow,” Sansa said. “I couldn’t have done this without you. I never meant to see you dragged into this; I was sure Ser Lothor would fight for me. I owe you so much.”

Apparently, Ser Lothor was the Vale knight expecting to be paid for staying out of the trial by combat. Sansa had believed him attracted to her during her stay in the Vale. It pleased me to know that he would now collect none of his expected gold.

“You owe me nothing,” I said. “I cannot forget that your sister died trying to aid me.”

She hugged me all the same, tightly. And then she hugged Tansy. And then Myranda started hugging us all.

“Mollen wishes to formally apologize for doubting you,” Sansa said. “Please accept it, he did not mean any disrespect.”

“Of course,” I said. “I was not offended. A guard without suspicion is worse than no guard at all. How did the Vale men react?”

“Stunned,” Sansa said. “They accept the verdict, and no one mourns for Corbray, but they weren’t happy that you killed him on the ground. The code of chivalry demands that you allow a fallen foe to yield. It’s the law of war.”

“War means fighting,” I quoted John Carter, “and fighting means killing.”

“I’m glad she’s on our side,” Randa said. She looked at Tansy. “You expected this?”

“I saw her cleanse Harrenhall of the Holy Hundred and wipe out an entire pirate crew. That prancing ponce was dead the moment Sansa named Dejah her champion.”

“He was dead,” I said, “the moment he called me ‘bitch.’”

“That was you at Harrenhal?” Sansa asked, her eyes wide. “We heard that no man survived.”

“I only killed twenty-one of the eighty-six. I had help from the Brotherhood.”

“Why did you kill Corbray?” Randa asked. She seemed genuinely curious.

“My friend Trisha told me to,” I said.

“The pretty redhead, tall with a flat chest?” she asked. Randa, much like some men I have encountered on this planet, labeled all women by their breast size. I nodded. “She’d never met him, had she?”

“I do not believe so,” I said. “She believed that Baelish would find some way to overturn the verdict, were Corbray not killed.”

“Smart girl,” Randa said. “The little weasel most certainly would have. You didn’t mind? Killing him, I mean?”

I did not tell her of my regrets immediately after the fight.

“I was trained to kill my enemies,” I said instead. “It is not a game.”

“My father said the same,” Sansa said quietly. “But then he hesitated, and he died.”

“As bloody and terrible as it all is,” Randa said, “they do think it’s a game.”

"Should I have spared him?"

"No," Randa said decisively. "Your friend the lady warrior is absolutely right. Littlefinger would find a way to twist anything less than a decisive result into a victory, or at least survival. Beyond that, Sansa is young, and a woman, and seen as a weak ruler who needs to be married to a strong man who will then rule the North in her name. You sent a message today on Sansa's behalf, and it's that much stronger because you're a woman yourself."

"So I played the game of thrones today."

"Yes,” Randa smiled, “but you did it in great style."

Sansa ordered her servants to bring a large dinner to our chambers, explaining that she felt it best to keep me separated from the Vale lords. As I did not wish to kill any more of them, I readily agreed.

Lyra returned with her sister Alysane, wearing their Mormont tunics. She brought another such tunic and a set of black leggings, and handed them to me.

“You’re one of us now,” she said. “I saw you eyeing these.”

Actually, I had been eyeing her breasts, but I smiled and thanked her as though she were correct.

“Have you one for my sister?”

“ _Our_ sister. And yes, I do.”

I pulled off my brown dress and sat on a chair to put on the leggings. I do not normally like tight clothing, it feels so unnatural on my skin. But these were surprisingly soft.

“How can you stand seeing her naked?” Randa asked Lyra.

“You didn’t see Lyra dressed like Dejah?” Tansy countered, as Alysane helped pull off her gown. “She and Dejah really could be birth-sisters.”

“Surrounded by big perky tits . . .” Randa muttered.

“Mother said you know little of our ways,” Lyra said to me.

“That is true,” I said. “Some things are the same as in my home city, but there are many differences that seem strange to me.”

“You have adoption?”

“Yes, though it is rare.”

“It is here, too. Mother is the head of House Mormont, now that my uncle is dead and cousin disgraced. That gives her total power over family affairs. When she declared you and Tansy adopted, in front of witnesses including the Lady of Winterfell, that was the final word. You are both Mormonts in the eyes of the law.”

“And our eyes too,” her sister added.

“Yes, in our eyes too,” Lyra agreed. “I’m so happy to call you a Mormont.”

“Thank you. I have only a tiny grasp of the honor you all have done us, and I am overwhelmed by it.”

“You know that I’m . . .” Tansy began.

“A bastard?” Lyra completed her thought. “By Southron law, so am I. I have no idea who my father might be. That means nothing on Bear Island.”

I nudged Tansy. “That makes us sisters by law, too.”

“Not that it ever mattered,” she answered.

The mirror still stood where Tansy and I had studied our new gowns such a short while before. I walked over to admire myself in black and green, holding out my legs one at a time and flexing them and my feet; the others somehow thought this amusing. The green did not really flatter my skin tone, but I adored the tight black leggings. They fit perfectly, even over my ass. We have nothing like this on Barsoom.

“Join us,” Sansa said to the Mormont sisters as the food and drink arrived. “We all deserve wine.”

She poured a large cup and handed it to Tansy.

“She’s still my aunt, you know,” Sansa cautioned Lyra, playfully. “You can’t have all of her. Only sometimes.”

“From no family to two,” Tansy mused. “All in the space of days.”

“We’ve all lost so much,” Sansa said. “We have to take back what we can. I used to daydream that Lyra and I would be sisters one day.”

“Really?” Randa asked. “How’s that?”

“We’re close to the same age, I think Lyra is . . . one year older?” Lyra held up three fingers as she drank. “Alysane is older than we and even has a child.”

“Two children!” she laughed, pouring wine for herself. “Do keep up!”

“Lyra played with us whenever the Mormonts visited Winterfell. My brother Robb had eyes only for Dacey even though he was younger than she.”

Alysane leaned over to nudge Randa with her elbow and whispered loudly.

“Our oldest sister. Imagine a woman with Lyra’s figure, even taller . . . but actually pretty!”

The Mormont sisters laughed, and the rest of us joined in; Alysane’s thoughts showed that she had meant her comment ironically. I would have been upset with her had she not.

“Dacey was a beauty,” Sansa agreed. “Just like Lyra. And wild and fierce. Also like Lyra. Despite the age difference I was sure Father would arrange a match with the Old Bear, Jeor Mormont, or Lady Maege.”

“Our mother’s elder brother,” Alysane explained. “Head of our house, until he left for the Wall when I was a child. Mother likely would have been the one to contract a marriage for Dacey with Robb.”

“In the old days, the Northern houses all intermarried,” Sansa went on. “I would have married some Northern boy, maybe Cley Cerwyn, maybe Smalljon Umber. I wanted a prince, but I would have ended up in some Northern holdfast. To my misfortune, I got the prince.”

She looked into her wine wistfully, her thoughts playing the game of might-have-been. She recovered with a visible start.

“Father’s father feared the mad king’s reckless insanity and so he started playing the game of thrones, sending Father to foster in the Vale where he became friends with Robert Baratheon. That led to Father marching south years later to join the war when Robert rebelled against the Mad King.”

I had heard scraps of this history.

“Fostered?” I asked.

“A noble child is sent to live with another noble family,” Randa explained. “It promotes ties between the houses. And also provides a hostage. Either way, it’s a crucial ploy in the game of thrones.”

“People liked to say,” Sansa went on, “that Father had no wish to play the game of thrones, but that’s not really true. He just wasn’t very good at it. He never considered marrying any of us to Northern houses. Only to the great houses of the South. Robb would never marry Dacey. I wish he had.”

“They would still live,” Lyra said, softly. “Castle, children. All the happy things.”

“Instead they both rot in some unknown Riverlands swamp,” Sansa said harshly. “Look at us. We had such silly dreams – you, me, Jeyne, Beth Cassel. Knights and princes for us all. And now Jeyne and I are broken. You carry a sword and you’ve fought in actual _battles_. Beth . . . she was here when Winterfell was taken. Gods alone know what happened to her. I . . . I looked for her body, after we took the castle.”

I remembered that one of the Ryswell brothers claimed to have raped Beth Cassel, and that Ramsay Bolton had raped and murdered her. I decided not to tell Sansa this.

“Sansa,” Lyra said. “We’re alive. We have new friends and we’ll make new lives.”

Randa, shorter than any of us, even Alysane, stood.

“Sansa, no more morbid talk,” she said, raising her cup of wine. “We’ll drink to Robb and Dacey and Beth and what never was, and then it’s time for happy things. The princess won. Baelish is doomed. You’re free.”

We each drained our cups, and then proceeded to eat a variety of fine meats and drink wine late into the night. No more talk of fighting: it was an evening of what Randa called “girl talk.” I greatly enjoyed the tasty dishes, including roasted meats, birds and fishes and delicious pies, and ate far more than I spoke.

“Does she always . . .”

“This,” Tansy said, “is pretty restrained for Dejah.”

I was so pleased to see Sansa at ease with Tansy, forgiving Arya’s death and treating Tansy as a member of her extended family. I told her so.

“Petyr taught me a great deal,” she explained. “I was forced to live as a bastard, pretending to be his daughter. Now that I’ve seen it from the other side, I am so deeply sorry for the way I treated Jon Snow when we were children. He was my brother and I should have been as a sister to him. Instead I acted like he was something foul that I needed to scrape off the bottom of my shoe.

“Tansy, you’re my aunt. As I told you before, I want us to be family. I don’t have much family left, and I don’t want to lose you now that I’ve found you.”

“I told Arya, I can’t be a lady. You heard Baelish. Everything he said was true. I ran a brothel. I was a whore.”

Sansa looked a little startled. I saw the Mormont sisters eye one another.

“Mother knew,” Alysane told Lyra, softly enough that no one else could hear.

Lyra shrugged. Randa laughed.

“You think we’re not?”

“Randa!”

“Fuck them for money or fuck them for power,” Randa said. “Have your maidenhead sold off by your father to some lordling you’re never met to raise your father’s standing, never asking a by-your-leave. Sounds a lot like whoring to me.”

“At least,” Tansy said, relaxing somewhat, “all of my girls were paid.”

“I should have worked for you,” Randa immediately answered, “instead of my father.”

We laughed and drank more wine. A servant brought me more meat.

“This is why Mormont women fuck bears instead,” Alysane said, very seriously. “The smell’s better and they make sure you finish, too.”

Here as on Barsoom, alcohol made jokes funnier though I had to read Randa’s thoughts to understand that “finish” meant “to receive orgasm.” I thought to ask if women often failed to receive orgasm from their lovers, but realized just as I was about to speak that such a question might betray my origins. And so I laughed. We laughed; all of us except Sansa.

“I was sold to Joffrey,” Sansa said slowly. “Then passed on to Tyrion. And then I was sold to Ramsay Snow. I neglected to thank you for killing Ramsay Snow, Dejah. He raped me, he beat me. Over and over. No one cared. Because he’d bought and paid for it.”

She paused, and looked intently at me.

“How did Ramsay die?”

“Lyra and I encountered him in a forest clearing,” I said. “I had picked up a rock. I do not know why. He said I could not throw it, so I did. It lodged in his throat and he died. I cut off his head and punted it on Lord Reed’s order. We also killed the four women who called themselves Ramsay’s Bitches, and we killed his dogs.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said. “They’d watch when he raped me, sometimes taunt me while he did it. The worst was Myranda, the Dreadfort kennel master’s daughter. She taught him to use dogs. I dreamed of feeding him to his own dogs.”

“Lyra killed Myranda,” I said, then recalled Myranda Royce sitting next to me. “The evil Myranda.”

“I hated her,” Sansa said. “Finally, I was a great lady, the Lady of Winterfell, and I was raped in . . . in every place you can imagine. In places I’d never imagined could be used that way. And all of it in my own home. By a base-born bastard, while his base-born lover Myranda looked on and laughed.”

She slammed her cup on the table and turned from me to my sister.

“Tansy, I listened to the stories as a girl. I believed them with my whole heart. Knights noble and true protected their honored ladies. And now? Fuck the game of thrones.”

We all stared at her. Lady Sansa had said “fuck.”

“Besides,” Sansa said, “I think anyone who calls you a whore is going to end up like Ramsay.”

“Yes,” I said. “I will always defend my sister. All of my sisters.”

“Here we stand,” the Mormont sisters said together, clanked their cups on the table twice and then drained them, all in unison.

“Is this a drinking game?” Tansy asked, obviously eager to divert Sansa’s attention.

“Yes,” Alysane said. “Try it.” We did. It took several tries to perfect the rhythm. The wine did not help.

“You did not wish to marry?” I asked Alysane, after I had consumed a great deal of wine.

“No,” she said.

“Me either,” Lyra added.

“Why not?”

“Things go wrong when a Mormont leaves Bear Island,” Alysane explained. “Our cousin met and married a greedy, vicious but lovely woman who led him into debt and dishonor. Our aunt fell madly in love with a knight and married him; he was a good man but she died in her childbed right here in Winterfell. The Old Bear murdered by his own men, Dacey by the Freys . . . we belong on our island.”

“Yet,” I said, “here we stand.”

“‘We’.” Somewhat drunk herself, she gently tapped the end of my nose as she quoted me. She had pulled up her sleeves, and I saw that she bore an odd circular burn on her upper left arm, the same as I had seen on Lyra and Trisha. “That’s exactly how you’re supposed to think now. Good girl. We swore oaths. House Mormont knows one king, the Little Bear would say, and that is the King in the North and his name is Stark. Her name is Stark. You know what I mean.”

“Little Bear?”

“Our youngest sister has a flair for drama,” Lyra explained. “You’ll see when you meet her.”

“And she’ll tell you all about our oaths,” Alysane added. “We swore to fight for the Starks, and so we did, even though it meant coming to the mainland.”

“I don’t deserve that loyalty,” Sansa said. “I have to earn it. I went south as a silly little girl. And I betrayed my father.”

“You did what?” Alysane put down her wine. Lyra now leaned forward as well. I could have felt the room become tense without telepathy’s help.

“My father wanted to leave King’s Landing,” Sansa said, “and told Arya and I to prepare. We were in great danger, but I thought he was ruining my dream of marrying a prince. So I went running to Cersei and told her all about it. That started the whole chain of disasters that ended with Ilyn Payne cutting off my father’s head, my brother calling his banners for war, the Red Wedding. All of it.”

“That was Cersei’s doing,” Randa said. “Not yours.”

“She turned my treason into murder, that’s true enough. She didn’t make me tattle like a spoiled little child.”

“You were a spoiled child,” Randa said, earning a sharp look from Lady Stark. “And then you grew up.”

“I have to live with it,” Sansa said. “And I have to prove I deserve love and loyalty, when men – and women – lay down their lives in my name.”

“Cersei can burn in hell,” Randa said.

“Maybe she is,” Sansa answered. “We had a raven a day or two past that said a foreign whore had murdered Cersei.”

 _Do not say a word_ , my sister thought. I remained silent.

“To the nameless whore,” Randa said, lifting her goblet. We all joined in the toast.

“Will you marry again?” I asked Randa; now I was the one eager to change the subject.

“Not if I can avoid it,” she said. “My father will doubtlessly try to arrange one as long as I stay young and possibly fertile. Until I run out of excuses, it looks like you’re the only wife here.”

“I am not sure,” I said. “I came to Westeros to find my husband, but I do not know if he wants to be found.”

“You’re still married even so.”

“Not under our law,” I said. “Either partner can end a marriage. The law requires that he do so in my presence, but our . . .” I struggled for the word, as they apparently did not have judges here, “keepers of the law have ruled that this is not necessary when it is not possible to confront the other party.”

“That’s so . . . civilized. Here it ends in death or,” Randa paused, pretending to think, “death.”

“There are still restrictions,” I explained. “If you kill someone’s wife or husband, or their betrothed, you cannot marry them in their place.”

“And you have this law because people often did so?”

“Very likely,” I said. “But there are ways around it. My friend Kantos Kan tried to kill my betrothed so that I could marry John Carter.”

“Tried?” Randa asked. “How did you marry John Carter anyway?”

“Kantos was not successful,” I said, “but John Carter’s friend Tars Tarkas killed him instead.”

“So you were able to marry John Carter because his friend murdered your betrothed?”

“Yes,” I said. “But we do not consider it murder if it occurred in fair combat.”

“I thought we lived in a violent land. No wonder you know how to fight.”

She paused.

“So why the killing part, if you can end a marriage without it?”

“You cannot end a marriage by _divorce_ ,” I used John Carter’s word, “and marry another with whom you have already fallen in love.”

“How,” Randa asked, “would anyone know?”

They would know because we are telepathic. Since I did not wish to tell her that, I gave a weaker answer, though I still spoke the truth.

“We take honor very seriously. Or many of our people do. I have become less admiring of this concept.”

Randa reached over and poured more wine for me.

“That’s something else worth drinking to.”

It was very late when Sansa and Randa left us, followed by the Mormonts. Tansy and I undressed and settled into our sleeping furs soon after. 

* * *

I awoke to find someone looming over us. Normally my telepathic senses would have alerted me well before anyone came that close, even while I slept. The figure reached across and placed its hand on Tansy’s forehead as she mumbled in her sleep, and my sister settled into a deeper slumber.

I seemed unable to react; my telepathic senses had become completely quiet. Somewhere in my mind I knew that I should never have let this person touch my sister.

The figure turned in the dim light of the banked fire; I could not see who it might be and wondered if I experienced some intense dream. The fire flared into greater life, untouched by the figure or anyone else, revealing Melisandre, the Red Priestess. She wore a red skirt and her heavy necklace with the pulsing red jewel on a pendant, but nothing else.

“Kajas,” I whispered, involuntarily.

“Yes, sister,” she whispered back. “I’m here, and yours once again.”

She leaned over me, her breasts right above mine, large and perfectly round with dark red areolas around her prominent nipples. Just like Kajas. She was beautiful in the firelight; she had not seemed so lovely when I saw her with Stannis in the Great Hall. She kissed me. I kissed her back, opening my lips to admit her tongue.

She kissed my cheek, and then my throat. She ran her tongue down to my right breast, and took the nipple in her mouth. I felt it grow stiff. The sensations spread through my body, and my back arched involuntarily. I placed my hand on the back of her head and stroked her dark red hair. Someone had told me to keep away from Melisandre. Now I knew why. The pleasure of her kisses and her touch was almost more than I could bear. But neither could I bear for her to stop.

I wore nothing amid the sleeping furs other than a set of warm, loose-fitting leggings Sansa Stark had gifted me. Melisandre reached her hand between my legs, then withdrew it. We of Barsoom have an ovipositor there with which we lay eggs; touching its outer part gives us no sexual response. The sensitive areas lie well within, and require a tongue like ours to provide pleasure.

She instead cupped my left breast and kissed it as well, taking the nipple gently between her teeth. I sighed; she had found a favorite place and I felt enormous pleasure. Somewhere deep in my mind I wondered what I was doing. I did not know or trust this woman. She looked so much like Kajas, she kissed and touched so much like Kajas, but she was not Kajas. She was of a different planet, a different species. And Kajas was dead. Yet here she knelt by my side.

Melisandre rose to her feet, and extended her hand to me. I took it and stood. She put her arms around my neck and shoulders and kissed me again. I placed mine on her waist and kissed her back. She moved my hands to her breasts; they felt so warm and as soon as I felt the nipples rise into my palms I seemed to lose what remained of my will. I desired only to do whatever was necessary to please her.

I moved from her lips to her neck, her breasts, taking each large nipple between my teeth and sucking, nipping; using my tongue to induce pleasure. Now she gasped, and for a moment the breast in front of my eyes seemed to waver, its shape seemed to alter. She pulled me to me feet before I could move lower to give her the pleasure she deserved. She took my hand and led me out the door of our bedchamber, stopping to kiss me in the doorway.

We proceeded down the hallway and out of the castle, stopping frequently to kiss again. Each time we kissed I felt my will slip slightly more out of my control, but I did not seem to care. I could only think of Melisandre, of Kajas, placing her lips on mine, or on my breasts, again. I saw no one else. We walked out of the castle to the pile of wood and climbed up. At the top, Melisandre gently pressed my back against the wooden post rising out of the pile and kissed me. She took my hands and put them over my head, through a loop of rope affixed there, and tightened it. She kissed me again. I kissed her back, fully engaging my tongue.

All of my senses seemed to be operating fully. I knew exactly what was happening around me, and to me, yet I could do nothing to exert my own will. I only wished to be pleasured by Melisandre’s kisses. And they pleasured me greatly. I saw that someone had set the wood around me alight, and flames started to grow. Melisandre kissed me one more time.

“Your sacrifice shall save the world,” she whispered. “Azor Ahai shall live.”

“Let go of my sister, bitch.”

I knew that voice. Suddenly Melisandre was yanked forcefully backwards by her hair.

“Dejah! Wake up! Dejah!”

Tansy slapped me across the face. Hard. And again. Why was my sister slapping me?

“Are you angry with me, Tansy?” I asked, puzzled. “I did not mean to kiss her. But it felt so good.”

Melisandre tried to pull her away, but Tansy pushed her down. The Red Priestess wrapped her arms around Tansy’s legs, bringing her down on top of her. They wrestled atop the smoldering logs, but Tansy grabbed a piece of wood and hit Melisandre in the side of the head, stunning her. My sister scrambled to her feet and faced me again.

“Dejah! Pay attention to me. _Look at me!_ ”

She screamed those last words. I saw that she wore only leggings. She was very beautiful, half-naked in the firelight. Perhaps she wished to kiss me too? I thought that I might like that.

And then she did. Tansy took my face in both of her hands and kissed me, deeply, like she had in Cersei’s bedchamber. She forced my lips open with her tongue and I felt a warmth spread through me as her dark blue eyes bored into mine. I had not realized that I felt cold, even amid the slowly-catching fire. I did not need my telepathic senses to know that she was real, and that she loved me.

I felt myself becoming even more aroused. My tongue wrapped around Tansy’s and I kissed her back just as intensely, fueled by the love I carried for her. I felt an awareness return that I had not noticed was missing; I had not noticed many things. Now suddenly I understood what Melisandre had done, what I had done, and that I and my sister were in great danger. My desire turned to anger.

Fully alert, I easily broke my hands free of the rope and pulled Tansy tightly to my side as Melisandre, once again on her feet, tried to stab her in the back with a strange, crooked dagger. I caught Melisandre’s wrist with my right hand, and took the dagger out of her hand with my left. I kept a firm grasp on her wrist, and pressed the dagger through it.

“Sister, no,” she gasped. “Don’t you love me?”

I took hold of her other wrist and pressed it down over the tip of the dagger. She squirmed, but I maintained my hold and raised her crossed arms over her head. I placed my other hand on her chest and held her against the post where I had been standing, and pushed the dagger into the wood of the post as far as it would go.

Melisandre screamed and struggled, but the dagger held her firmly in place by her pierced wrists. The huge red jewel in the pendant at her bare throat seemed to shine with more than the reflected firelight. She had somehow changed and no longer looked as perfectly beautiful as she had moments before, no longer so much like Kajas.

“No.” She began to sob. “You have to burn. You stole the power from the rightful Azor Ahai. It was never meant to be you; you don’t belong here. Let me go. It’s not my time to rejoin the Lord of Light.”

Apparently, my enhanced abilities did not make me flame-proof; my feet began to feel the heat. Tansy’s leggings caught fire. I ripped them off of her and then lifted my sister in my arms.

“Please,” Melisandre whimpered. “Sister, I don’t want to die again. Please don’t leave me here.”

I felt violated, as though she had committed some form of psychic rape. I knew how women were treated on this planet, yet I had thought myself immune to rape since their male sex organs would not physically fit inside me. And I thought I was simply too strong. I was wrong.

I have killed many people since my arrival, but almost always in the heat of the moment and rarely with any calculation. Without any doubt, I wished to kill Melisandre. I could have used her dagger on her heart or her throat, broken her neck or punched her over the heart, but I wanted her to suffer. She had desecrated the memory of my beloved lost sister. I wanted her to feel the flames she had meant for me.

Tansy clasped her arms around my neck and I leapt free of the burning pyre. I landed on the cold gravel, bruising my feet but flexing my knees and keeping hold of my sister. I gently put her feet on the ground.

Many people from the castle and the camp outside had responded to the commotion, including Sansa Stark with Randa and Jeyne, her guards and those of our own group from Greywater Watch who had lodged within the castle. Lyra and Trisha had drawn their swords to confront Stannis, who stood by the pyre still holding a lighted torch as Melisandre writhed in the firelight. He apparently had set the wood alight but had otherwise done nothing to aid Melisandre in giving me to the flames or to help her when Tansy intervened. My sister wrapped her arms around me and held me close to her.

Maege Mormont joined us, wrapping us both in her wide arms and kissing each of us softly on the head. Jarack and another Mormont man stood on either side of her, nervously shifting their battle axes from hand to hand.

“Lord Stannis has guest right here,” Sansa said loudly. “I will not see him harmed, even outside the walls of Winterfell.”

“So did Dejah,” Maege shot back. “’Stannis helped that bitch try to burn my daughter. Put him to the sword.”

“We’re not Freys here, Sansa said. “Disarm him and put him in a cell.”

I noticed that Davos Seaworth remained silent. Stannis threw down the torch and drew his sword.

“That ends guest right,” Lyra said. “No one harms any of my sisters.”

She advanced cautiously, while Trisha slid right to open the distance between them and flank Stannis. I knew my adoptive sister and my friend to be good with their swords but feared for them against an expert like Stannis Baratheon. Stannis wore ringed armor, while Lyra and Trisha wore only their Mormont tunics.

“Lord Baratheon!” Sansa called out, “Surrender!”

“Not to these low-born bitches! Or you, either. I am your rightful king.”

He saw Trisha approaching from his left and struck at her. As I had taught her, she dodged his rightward slash and instead parried his back-swing, pulling his blade further to his left. From his right, my adoptive sister Lyra quickly moved into the opening thus created and stabbed the point of her sword into the unarmored area just under his right arm. He gasped and dropped his sword, fell to his knees and then slowly sank to the ground face-downward. There was little blood; I knew him to be grievously wounded but the blood would have leaked into his abdominal cavity.

Melisandre’s screams became ever more high-pitched as her skirt burned away and the flames licked up her legs. The smoke did not seem to affect her. Finally the screaming subsided, and only the crackling of burning logs and the smell of burning meat remained. She slumped on the post, her arms still held aloft by the dagger through her wrists as her body blackened from the heat and flame.

Sansa ignored both Stannis’ body and Melisandre’s screams to walk over to Tansy and I, touching us each gently on the shoulder.

“I’m very sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why my guards didn’t stop her. Are you alright?”

“It is not their fault,” I said. “She used . . . something . . . to confuse my senses and hide us from the guards or anyone else. If Tansy had not come, she would have succeeded.”

Davos Seaworth placed a cloak over my shoulders and another over Tansy’s, softly speaking his own apologies.

“I should have killed her myself,” he said. “After what she did to Princess Shireen. Had I known she would do it again, to another I love like a daughter . . . I’m sorry, Princess. I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Tansy told him. “You warned us. What else were you to do? We’re safe. Dejah’s safe. The bitch is dead.”

He nodded, still deeply upset. He truly did love me, and my sister, as though we were his own daughters, as he had Stannis’ murdered daughter. Meanwhile, Marsden and Jarack took Stannis by the arms and legs and pitched him into the fire at Melisandre’s feet. I could receive thoughts again and knew that Stannis was not dead; the Mormont soldiers had likewise been aware that he still lived when they fed him to the flames. None of us said anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris ignites a blood feud.


	36. Chapter Twenty-Seven (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris kills another Corbray.

Chapter Twenty-Seven (Dejah Thoris)

Lyra and Alysane walked back to our chambers with us, and stayed for what was left of the night. Alysane sat on the edge of our bed, stroking my hair and murmuring softly until I slept, as though I were one of her little children. Trisha leaned against the inside of our chamber door, sword drawn but grounded in front of her. From his thoughts I knew that Jarack leaned on its opposite side, his axe similarly ready in front of him. Lyra summoned six more Mormont soldiers but stalked the corridor outside our door, watching with her sword in her hand and nerves still on edge though our enemies were dead. I clung tightly to my sister and finally fell into a restless sleep.

The sun rose not long afterwards with Melisandre’s pyre still burning, and with it came the appointed time for Petyr Baelish to die. The smell of scorched flesh hung heavy on the castle, but everyone pretended not to notice.

We all washed with cold water, and used the odd powder these people apply to their teeth to clean and freshen them. Tansy and I put on our Mormont leggings and tunics to match Lyra and Alysane, and after eating a few cold biscuits and drinking some wine the four of us went down to the courtyard together with Maege and two new Mormont soldiers, Trisha and the others having been relieved during the night. This time I wore my sword, as did Lyra.

The Winterfell soldiers had placed a wooden block on the platform in the courtyard from which Sansa had watched the combat on the previous afternoon. Sansa Stark stood on the platform with Davos Seaworth, Howland Reed, Galbart Glover, Jonelle Cerwyn, Maege and the lord in the bronze armor who I had learned was named Yohn Royce.

Two Winterfell soldiers held Petyr Baelish by his upper arms; he stared at the floor of the platform, his thoughts roiled with hatred of me, Sansa, Yohn Royce and the dead Lyn Corbray. I took a place on the ground at the platform’s side along with Tansy, Randa and all three of my Mormont sisters. Trisha, Jarack and Marsden stood just below us on the ground next to the platform, not allowing anyone to approach us from behind.

“We’re sisters now,” Jory whispered to me and took my hand. “I’m really happy.”

She tried to divert me from the night’s terrors, knowing that I could read her thoughts and would detect her effort, but determined to do so anyway. And yet, at least to a small extent, it worked. My little sister loved me, I loved her, and these were true emotions. I felt the layer of filth Melisandre had left behind start to wash away. I twined my fingers between Jory’s.

“It makes me happy as well,” I whispered back, as Lyra squeezed my other hand and took hold of Tansy’s. We could not say any more before Sansa took a step forward and began to speak.

“My father always said that the man who passes the sentence must also swing the sword. And so it must be for the woman who passes the sentence as well. Princess Dejah?”

I looked up at her; sensing her thoughts, I climbed onto the platform next to her.

“Might I borrow your sword for a moment? It was forged from the metal of my father’s great sword, named Ice. I think it fitting that it be the blade to carry out this sentence.”

“Of course.”

I had not known of my sword’s origins; apparently the Lannisters had taunted her with the destruction of her family’s sword when they held her prisoner. I drew the blade and laid it across my arm, the hilt pointing toward Sansa. She took it, silently expressing surprise at its light weight, and held it awkwardly in both hands. At Sansa’s signal, the two soldiers forced Baelish to his knees before her.

“Petyr Baelish, before the old gods and the new you have been found guilty of the murders of Robert and Lysa Arryn, and of conspiracy in the murders of Jon Arryn, Joffrey Waters and Ser Dontos Hollard. The sentence is death.”

“No, Sansa, please. You can’t do this. You need me. You love me, Alayne. I am your father.”

He urinated on himself. He attempted to rise and the soldiers took him again by the arms. He still twisted his head wildly and a third soldier climbed onto the platform to seize him by his hair and pin his head to the block with a thick leather strap I had not noticed before.

“Show some dignity, Petyr,” Sansa whispered.

She hacked wildly at his neck with the sword, sending blood and bits of flesh flying. Her face expressed calm, but her thoughts were filled with rage. Baelish screamed when the sword first bit into his neck, but then fell silent. The soldiers, now all standing, leaned back, with good reason frightened of the flailing blade. It took Sansa Stark at least six blows with the sword, but eventually Petyr Baelish’s head came free. She began to weep.

Mollen detached the head from the strap and held it aloft by its hair.

“The sentence is carried out,” he said. He looked at the Lady of Winterfell and she nodded, too overcome with emotion to speak. Mollen dismissed the crowd. “We are finished here.”

Sansa held the sword out to me with two fingers grasping its pommel as though it were some particularly noxious dead animal. I took it, and Myranda Royce led Sansa back toward her chambers. Tansy gave me a questioning look and I nodded; she followed Sansa along with Alysane and Jory. I was relieved to see Trisha and three other Mormont soldiers follow.

Lyra handed me a cloth and I began to wipe down my sword. Her thoughts showed her unwilling to leave me alone; she had ordered Trisha to see after our other sisters.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “I saw that bitch staring at you. I wish I’d killed her when I first thought her a danger. We should have stayed the night with you.”

Two of the Vale knights approached us before I could answer; the younger wore the same symbol of a black bird and a red shape as Lyn Corbray, the other a yellow cross on a black background with nine black stars on the cross. They walked very stiffly, and I detected deep anger in both of them, directed at me.

“I am Ser Lucas Corbray,” the younger said. “You killed my brother as he lay helpless and stole my family’s sword. I name you thief and murderer, and I demand satisfaction.”

He pulled off his glove and dropped it at my feet. I understood this to be a challenge.

“And you?” I asked his friend.

“Ser Symond Templeton, Knight of Ninestars and second-in-command of the armies of the Vale.”

He pulled off his glove, and dropped it at Lyra’s feet.

“And what grievance do you have with me, ser?” Lyra asked.

“Do I need one? You named this whore your sister. You can die with her.”

“We have been challenged, and can name the terms,” I asked. “Is that not correct?”

“It is,” said Ser Symond.

“Two against two, simultaneous. No pairings. The weapons are swords, no armor, no shields. The fight continues until both of one pair are dead. That is the only conclusion; let it be clear this time that there is to be no yielding or ransom. Is this acceptable?”

I had named a typical duel alignment of Barsoom, the same I had chosen when facing the Ryswells. It allowed me to fight and kill both of them without putting Lyra’s life at needless risk. I also intended it to shock them. I succeeded, and both felt a frisson of fear though neither let it show. They hesitated.

“We do not play silly games in my land,” I continued. “Place your lives on the betting table or shut your mouths, walk away and do not trifle again with Mormont women.”

“Where and when?” Templeton asked, his voice pitched much higher than a moment earlier.

“Here and now.”

Lyra drew her sword and moved closer to me, thinking that she would cover my flank in the paired combat style. I nodded slightly, and read that she understood. I tossed the cleaning cloth behind me. The knights reacted slowly and I considered cutting them down on the spot, but decided that such a move might lead to further accusations.

The two of them finally pulled out their swords and assumed what I knew to be the standard opening posture in Westeros, swords in front of them and held low. They had already forgotten how that pose had doomed Lyn Corbray. I could see that they had never trained together, where Lyra and I had both trained and fought as a pair. The Knight of Ninestars moved forward first and Lyra knocked his sword aside, then I did the same to Lucas Corbray. Neither was very fast; from the haziness of their thoughts it appeared that both were drunk despite the early hour.

“Stop!” Hallis Mollen came running up to us. “Lady Stark has not authorized this. You are forbidden to draw weapons within Winterfell.”

“They challenged us,” Lyra said. “We wanted nothing to do with it.”

“The bitch murdered my brother,” Lucas Corbray answered. “We have the right of challenge.”

Symond Templeton attempted to attack Lyra while he thought her distracted by Mollen; I read his intent in his mind and blocked his strike. He stepped backward as Lyra countered, raising his left arm as though it held a shield – but his bare arm offered his chest no protection and Lyra ran him through with a two-handed thrust of her long sword. As he stared down at the blade sticking into his chest, she placed her foot on his abdomen and shoved him backwards to free her sword. He toppled onto his back, dead before his body came to rest.

I had already turned to face Lucas Corbray and parried his attack fairly easily; he thought to overwhelm me by brute force, believing a woman too weak to stand up to him. When he put all of his strength into an artless swing aimed at my head, I caught his blade on the flat of mine and shoved it back to my left. The force of my parry injured his shoulder and wrist, causing him to hesitate in bringing his blade back into guard position. In the space thus created, my own sword danced forward and carved out most of his throat.

The younger Corbray dropped his sword and collapsed to his knees with both hands fruitlessly trying to hold the massive wound closed. He pitched face-forward into the dust and horseshit of the castle courtyard. A wide pool of blood quickly formed around him.

“This is bad,” Mollen said. “This is very, very bad. These are significant lords. You can’t just kill them in the middle of Winterfell.”

“They challenged us,” Lyra said. “You heard him.”

“They dropped their gloves at our feet,” I added. “And the Corbray should not have called me ‘bitch’.”

I picked up the cleaning cloth I had cast aside, intending to wipe down my sword. A small crowd had noticed the commotion and begun to gather. The bronze lord shoved his way to the front. I dropped the cloth.

“You’ve killed two more knights of the Vale,” he said. “And seemingly with no more honor than the first. You gave neither the chance to yield, any more than you did Lyn Corbray.”

“They challenged Mormont women,” I said. “They threw down their gauntlets” – I had pulled the proper phrase from his mind – “and died with swords in their hands, as you can see. The terms I named specified that no one would yield. Where is the offense against honor?”

“You two are a walking offense against honor. A woman’s battle is in the birthing bed, not a field of honor.”

“Would you care to try avenging them?”

My “blood was up,” as John Carter would have said. I suppressed an urge to snarl, as is common among fighting women of Barsoom, and slowly twirled my sword, letting the blood drip off the point. I was ready to fight Bronze Yohn Royce on the spot or any other of his Vale knights. His men now spread out to circle around us while Lyra moved to press her back against mine. She silently told me she was ready, even eager, to fight whenever and whoever I chose. I felt very confident fighting alongside my adoptive sister. Perhaps it was a reaction to what Melisandre had done to me, but I was ready to kill someone. If Bronze Yohn Royce wished to be that person, that was his misfortune.

“Make your decision,” I told Lord Royce. “If you wish a fight, I assure you that you will be the first to die.”

Winterfell, Cerwyn, Glover and Mormont soldiers now moved to separate us from the Vale knights. A Winterfell guard arrived with Sansa, Maege, Tansy, Davos and Howland Reed following.

“This was murder,” the bronze lord angrily told Sansa. “These two wenches provoked a challenge and then this outlander used her witchcraft to murder two honorable Vale knights. I want both of them tried for murder and hanged as they deserve.”

“And do you plan to disarm them yourself?” Maege asked him. We had not moved from our back-to-back stance, our swords still raised in ready position with blood running down the fullers.

“This is your doing, She-Bear,” Yohn Royce said. “You set this in motion when you named this, this hired killer a Mormont. Give her up and you can keep your own whelp.”

“They’re both my daughters, and you’ll have neither.”

“Lord Royce,” Sansa said in a firm, commanding voice. “Lady Mormont. Was a challenge made?”

“It was,” Lyra said. “Mollen heard them. Their gauntlets are still on the ground where they threw them.”

“Mollen?”

“It’s true, my lady,” Mollen said. “The younger knight said he had a right to challenge them. The older knight attacked young Lady Mormont while she spoke to me and he thought her attention elsewhere.”

“Lord Royce,” Sansa said. “I believe we have seen enough death for one day. Please remove all of your Vale men to your camp. I think it best that they remain outside the walls. The Mormonts will remain inside the walls until you depart. All of the Mormonts.”

“Go back to your rooms, now,” Maege said, indicating Tansy and I. “Lyra, go with them.”

We turned and entered the castle keep through the large doors to the Great Hall where Lyra and I had made our entrance into the courtyard on the day before. The Winterfell soldiers kept the Vale men back, but they were outnumbered very badly; Sansa believed a fight would be less likely were I not present and I had to agree.

“What happened out there?” Tansy asked as soon as we entered our chambers, while Lyra barred the heavy wooden door.

“What you heard,” I said. “They challenged us. They died.”

“You killed them?”

“Our sister killed one,” I said. “I killed the other. They were drunk and did not fight well. They should have kept their gloves on.”

“You can’t just kill people in the castle courtyard,” Tansy said. “You’ve created a real problem for Sansa.”

“Tansy,” Lyra joined us, putting her arm partway around my shoulders, her hand splayed across the middle of my back. I liked her touch. “It was just as Dejah said. They started it. We couldn’t just stand there and let them cut us down. Templeton attacked without warning and would have killed me if it weren’t for Dejah.”

“And I’m glad they didn’t,” Tansy said, taking us both into her arms. “I’m just all wrought up. It’s been a hard two days rolled into one. I’m glad you were there to stand by my sister.”

“She’s my sister, too,” Lyra said. “And I’d do the same for you.”

Tansy nodded, then pulled Lyra into another hug.

“And I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I must have sleep,” I said, taking off my boots, pulling off my Mormont tunic and throwing myself into the sleeping furs. Tansy and Lyra did the same, curling up on either side of me. I felt very safe and comfortable between them.

I slept for a time, and awakened feeling somewhat better. The fight with Corbray and Templeton had only delayed the reckoning with what had happened with Melisandre. I stared down at my sleeping sisters, and thought how much I loved them both. Kajas was gone, never to return, but I had found women who loved me, who I loved in return.

I left my beloved adoptive sisters to walk quietly around the walls of Winterfell. I saw the small enclosed forest called a “godswood” and noted a large tree with red leaves. I walked down to the courtyard, found the gate to the godswood and made my way to the tree.

Someone had carved a strange face into it, apparently long ago. Some well-worn stones had been placed around it, where people apparently sat. But the tree curved to form a very comfortable-looking spot, and I rested there with my back against it. Smooth places on the tree’s skin showed that I was far from the first to nestle here. I could feel the tree’s very slow thoughts; it did not mind my presence even though it seemed to know that I did not belong here.

I leaned back into the tree and looked up at its leaves. The white skin and red leaves reminded me of home. Many differences remained if one cared to look, but I found comfort all the same.

After a time, I picked up the thoughts of Maege and Tansy as they sought to find me. They worried for my emotional state, and that I might have vented my rage on more of the Vale lords. I did not wish to avoid them, but neither did I alert them to my presence. Eventually a guard reported seeing me enter the godswood; they wandered about the small enclosed forest until they spotted me in my nook under the tree.

Walking up to me, they sat on the large above-ground roots, called “boles,” on either side of me. Tansy reached down for my hand. I put it in hers, silently. We all sat quietly for some time before Tansy spoke.

“I know how it feels,” she said as I continued to seek solace in the red leaves. “I know exactly how it feels. There’s nothing I can say to make it go away. Just know that you are my sister, and I love you.”

“You two are my daughters now,” Maege said. “And I love you both just like the daughters I bore. But it’s been that way for a while. Your new family is always here for you, Dejah.”

I took her hand and nodded, but still I stared at the leaves, and finally spoke without looking at either.

“I was not raped, the way women of your world suffer it,” I said. “But to have another take control of your will and force you to perform acts of love . . . this has happened to me before. It is not the same as rape, but it is degrading and humiliating all the same.”

“I don’t love you any less for it,” Maege said. “No one does.”

“Maege,” I said, trying hard to soften my words. “I know you love me like a daughter. And though I am far older than you, I am coming to return those feelings. We form such bonds far more slowly than do your people. But you must understand. I am not Dacey. I can never replace her, nor can Tansy.”

“You don’t look older than me.”

“I eat well and exercise. And I love my new family. But it is a new family.”

“I understand,” Maege said. “I miss her terribly and maybe I do sometimes see Dacey in you, or in Tansy. Maybe more than sometimes. It’s not intentional.”

“She does get straight to the point, doesn’t she?” Tansy asked, smiling.

“As you know, my people read thoughts,” I said. “We communicate in a mixture of spoken and silent words, images and concepts. We have our own system of courtesies, but it does not involve polite lies to the same extent as yours. We can lie in conversation, but it takes skill and is rarely employed.”

“That must save a lot of time,” Maege mused.

“It does,” I said. “And it means that many times I do not know how to express myself in a lengthy, polite manner, by your standards. I do not wish to offend. I am very happy that you think of me as one of your daughters. But I do not wish to take the place of Dacey.”

“I’ll try to appreciate you for yourself,” Maege said. “That shouldn’t be hard.”

“It’s not,” Tansy said.

“Nothing good ever happens in this castle,” Maege said. “Not for Mormonts. My little sister died here, birthing her daughter. Her name was Beth, her daughter’s as well. My niece. It appears she was killed when the castle fell.”

“Beth Cassel?”

“Yes. Sansa mentioned her?”

“She did. So did the Ryswell brothers, before Trisha and I killed them. They said Ramsay Bolton murdered her.”

I hesitated.

“Raped her first?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I should never have left her here,” Maege said. “Nor will I leave you. You have a family now, Dejah. Both of you do.”

I let go of their hands and pulled myself out of my nest.

“I know that,” I said. “I think I feel better now.”

We started back to the castle; the godswood had its own wall but a separate gate leading into Winterfell. I held Tansy’s hand as we walked.

“How did you know,” I asked, “that kissing me would break Melisandre's spell?”

“I didn't,” Tansy said. “It was the only idea I had left. True love’s kiss always breaks the spell in the fairy tales. I wish a kiss could fix everything.”

“It is a good start.” 

* * *

Sansa Stark invited me to First Meal the next morning. Tansy went to join our adoptive sisters in the castle’s main hall while I put on my Mormont green-and-black again and followed Jeyne Poole to the castle’s solar. I knew that I dressed provocatively given the previous day’s events, but I wished to show that I would not be intimidated. And despite the uncomfortable style, I was also inordinately proud to wear my new family’s colors.

As usual, Jeyne said nothing, but when she stopped to open the door she hesitated.

“I’m glad you killed him,” she said softly. “Petyr hurt me.”

She opened the door and stepped away before I could say anything in response. Maege, Randa, Davos and Howland Reed were already present within; Lord Glover evidently had arrived moments before. A large table had been spread with bacon, biscuits, and fruit, and there was coffee. I sat quietly and the Onion Knight explained some of the politics going on around me.

“Princess, you struck a serious blow for Lady Stark’s authority,” he said, echoing Randa’s assessment. “And finally getting rid of Petyr Baelish is good for all of the kingdoms.

“But killing Corbray’s brother and the Knight of Ninestars . . . this has put Lady Stark in a difficult position with her recent allies. There are just over a thousand men outside the walls owing allegiance to those two houses, one-tenth of the Vale’s strength. And Templeton was Royce’s second.”

“If they did not wish to die, then they should not have challenged us. They went through all the proper forms, with a dropped glove and a spoken challenge. I named the terms as they agreed was my right. They agreed to a fight to the death in which no one would yield. And then they died. That is the usual result of a fight to the death, is it not?”

“Lord Royce withdrew his men from Winterfell,” Ser Davos went on. “But he continues to demand what he calls justice. He wants you, Lyra Mormont and Lady Forlorn handed over to him immediately.”

“He is welcome to try to take us,” I said. “No one will lay a hand on me or on my adoptive sister and keep it. I took their sword as spoil of battle. They know how to get it back.”

“Princess,” Ser Davos tried again. “I’m not trying to anger you. I just want to be sure the Vale’s army leaves peacefully, and that means no more bloodshed.”

He also feared for my safety; my near-death at the hands of the red sorceress had shaken him.

“I only sought to help my friend,” I said. “I was asked to fight Lyn Corbray, to the death, and I did so. At the risk of my life. This was not my fight. I will not be scolded for killing someone in a fight to the death.”

“Princess, I’m deeply grateful for what you did,” Sansa took up her cause herself. “We only want to ask you and the Mormonts, the other Mormonts, to remain within Winterfell until the Vale knights have left and are well on their way home.”

“I will stand with my sisters. I wear these colors by choice. Here we stand.”

I clanked my coffee cup twice on the table and drained it. Maege Mormont broke into laughter, removing some – but not all – of the tension in the room.

“They taught you that, did they?” she asked, showing a smile but feeling anger on my behalf. “Davos is advising caution regarding the Vale men, and I tend to agree. If you would consent to stay around until the Vale army is gone, it would simply be helpful. And I know your sisters would love more time with you and Tansy.”

“As would I,” Sansa added.

“I will not deny a favor to any of you,” I said. I realized that I had been somewhat petulant, but I had truly been offended by the notion that I had done something wrong by killing either Corbray when they had volunteered for their own deaths. “And I would enjoy the company as well.”

“Are you still willing,” Howland Reed asked, “to seek out the Night’s King?”

“You believe him, or it, a danger to my sisters, do you not? I will kill any who would harm them. Any.”

I considered everyone in the room my friend, but I was no playing piece to be moved across the board of their equivalent of _Jetan_. My days of playing the helpless damsel had been left on Barsoom with, I assumed, my original body. I wished to be clear that while I would kill their enemies for them, I would do so for my own reasons. I was not a living weapon to be wielded in their cause. 

* * *

No guard stood outside our door, but it felt as though we had been placed under house arrest. Lyra moved her small bundle of belongings into our room and we remained there for most of each day. My sisters taught me the Westerosi version of _Jetan_ , called _Chevasse_. We exercised in the courtyard, and I practiced at swords with Lyra and sometimes with Trisha.

Tansy and I also explored the castle, along with Lyra and Jory Mormont. Large parts of it had burned and many of the buildings remained unusable. The so-called “glass gardens,” where flowers and crops could be grown during winter, had been smashed. Broken glass littered their wreckage.

More interesting parts of the castle lay underground. Lyra had played here as a child and now led us into the many tunnels and caverns. I found this fascinating – the deeper one went into the tunnels, the warmer the rock became. I knew of this phenomenon – geothermal heating – from reading scientific studies of ancient Barsoom. Our planet had ceased to be geologically active eons ago, but the remains of volcanic activity were clear to see. This planet apparently still had active veins of hot, liquid rock running beneath its surface.

The caverns extended to multiple levels, and they appeared to be very old. They also were not natural: they had been well-made, so that no evidence of cutting or digging was easily apparent, but they were much too smooth and much too precise to be the random work of nature. Or of these people – we of Helium can cast molten rock, at a huge expense of energy. Few other nations even of Barsoom have the technology to create what I now saw.

“How old is Winterfell?” I asked Lyra as the four of us descended to yet another level. The walk was fairly easy, with carved stone steps and broad walkways. Their style did not match the walls of caverns themselves.

“Thousands of years, they say. Sansa might know more, but I think she paid as much attention to lessons as I did. The maester here was murdered during the sack and they don’t have a replacement. Even if they did, I guess he wouldn’t know much about the castle’s history.”

Some of these caverns had been given over to the dead. Crypts made of stone held the remains of the Stark family going back for many generations. And here I saw something else unusual: the oldest crypts had been placed in the deepest caverns used for the dead. We have such places on Barsoom as well, but the oldest of the dead are closest to the entrance and the most recent burials are deeper in the rock. When someone dies and is added to the cavern, workers carve a new space out of the back wall and the cavern gets a little deeper.

The arrangement in Winterfell meant that the deepest parts of the tomb had been used first. Surely no one would wish to dig spaces that would not be used for centuries. And starting at the back would also mean that the dead would eventually reach the front of the cavern, and then someone would have to be placed in the deepest segment anyway. That day seemed to be no more than a generation or two away.

As I looked over the walls of the caverns by torchlight, it seemed that they were much larger than necessary. Many of the underground chambers were used to store food, firewood and other such consumable items, stockpiles for winter use or so Lyra informed me. Others simply stood empty.

So the cavern of the dead had not been constructed as an ossuary; someone had decided to use an already-existing, man-made cavern for this purpose. And I recognized the original purpose; similar caverns lie underneath Helium and other cities of Barsoom. Winterfell had been built to shelter people from attack by weapons far beyond the technology of Westeros: high-energy explosives delivered by cannon, airships or missiles or perhaps even fission warheads. If I could find some proof for this thesis, it would make for an outstanding paper, were I only able to deliver it to the Academy.

As I had mused upon coming to this planet, the greatest philosopher of our people, the Venerable Uhnkt, stated that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Perhaps I had been arrogant in my dismissal of the tales of ancient magic among these people. Rather than a stagnant civilization, as I assumed, perhaps they were the remnants of a much more advanced society.

And if indeed the remnants of advanced science still walked this planet, I needed to take the stories of walking dead, fire-breathing dragons and similar creatures far more seriously than I had to date. Magic might not exist, but biological weapons most certainly did. And some might survive in isolated regions – like the cold lands north of their Wall. Involuntarily, I shivered despite the warmth seeping out of the rock walls.

We ascended back towards the upper levels, counting the Stark rulers as we went. As we neared the most recent graves, I realized that some of the thought patterns I could detect were not on the surface as I had assumed but within the cavern. I quietly stopped my sisters in place as I read the minds of the six men inside the upper level of the crypt.

“They are followers of the Ninestar,” I said. “They hope to trap us here and kill us.”

I silently listened to their thoughts for a few more moments. They had doused their own torches and hoped to surprise us and then slay us by the light of those we carried. A very dim light came down the stairwell from above, not even enough to make out shadows except from a very close distance.

“Stay here with our sisters,” I told Lyra, reaching out to touch her face. “Behind one of these crypts. Do not come out until I call you. Kill anyone who is not me.”

“What is she going to do?” Jory whispered to Tansy.

“She’s going to kill them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Lyra Mormont meets her father.


	37. Chapter Ten (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daenerys Carter consumes the heart of a stallion.

Chapter Ten (John Carter)

We skirted the ruins of a city that Pono identified as Vaes Khadokh, the “city of corpses.” It had been one of the so-called “Free Cities” and fallen to Dothraki assault some centuries in the past. The entire population had been put to the sword.

I noted that the walls had been breached; except for the gap torn in them by war machines - probably catapults - they looked remarkably intact considering their age.

“Dothraki will fight on foot,” Mormont explained, “if it’s a choice between riding away and sacking a city. They don’t like it, but they’ll do it.”

“This city,” I said, “was taken with a siege train.”

“So there you have your precedent,” the aging knight said. “Dothraki have won victories fighting on foot.”

“It is known,” Pono agreed. “It’s best to fight mounted, but when one must crawl, then one must crawl. I have done so, and will do so again.”

Vaes Khadokh appeared much smaller than Pentos or Myr. It lay in a well-watered valley, with good access to the broad, slow-flowing river we had forded the day before. Perhaps I would re-settle people here, when I had brought all of Essos under firm government.

First, we would have to reach the Dothraki capital. I had no idea what to expect of Vaes Dothrak; the thoughts of those who had been there conflated a great memorial to Dothraki conquests, a religious shrine, a massive collection of camps and corrals, and a market where “gifts” could be exchanged. Men and women both anticipated the chance to have sex with willing strangers, as marital vows had even less meaning within the bounds of Vaes Dothrak than they did outside.

“It is a great city, Khal John,” Pono told me, waving his arms. His eyes actually shone with excitement. “One enters along the Godsway, a path strewn with the statues of a hundred different gods of the Lamb Men. Then one reaches the Horse Gate!”

“And what is special about the Horse Gate?” I asked, careful not to laugh at his child-like state of awe.

“Two stallions of bronze reach into the sky, sparring with their hooves. They soar above the Godsway, as people and horses pass far beneath. When one looks at the Horse Gate towards Vaes Dothrak, one sees the Mother of Mountains framed by the bronze stallions. Truly it is a sight blessed by the Horse God.”

* * *

My khaleesi felt some trepidation over her encounter with the dosh khaleen. My chief of staff feared that he would not be able to feed our horde, my _ko_ s eagerly awaited my coronation as Stallion Who Mounts the World, and my bed-slave Doreah feared that I would sell her to another khal. I did not see any reason to calm her, but I would not in fact have sold a white woman to a non-white owner, no matter how great my annoyance with her. And as my wife’s pregnancy advanced, I enjoyed my slave’s lovely body ever more.

Two days before we reached Vaes Dothrak, outriders reported a large khalasar approaching from behind us. Further reports identified it as that belonging to Khal Moro. We turned to face it in battle formation, similar to that we had deployed against Ahesso.

“How many riders does he command?” I asked Jhaqo as we sat our horses in front of the pike-and-crossbow phalanx. Rhakaro sat on my other side.

“It’s said to be about the size of my khas,” he said. “All khals lie about the size of their khalasar, as though it were their manhood. So likely somewhat less.”

Moro trotted out ahead of his men, his three bloodriders following behind him.

“Khal John!” he called out. “A perfect day to be Dothraki, is it not?”

It was indeed a lovely day, under blue skies dotted by small white clouds. I said nothing, but held up my empty hands in the usual Dothraki way of greeting.

“I’ve heard you killed Ahesso,” he said as he drew nearer, holding up his own open hands. “And now you wear a silver bell.”

“Yes,” I said. I still had not become used to the soft, ever-present tinkling sound in my ear. “And destroyed his khalasar. I hope it won’t be necessary to add another bell today.”

“Why would it be necessary?” Moro asked. “Are we not all friends here?”

“I never doubted,” I said. “We’ll perform great deeds together, you and I.”

“What is it that you want?” Moro asked, still grinning. His thoughts said that he knew exactly what I expected. “And will I find it worthwhile?”

“You’ll give me your arakh and become my ko,” I said. “You’ll share in the glory of the Stallion Who Mounts the World, both by my side and in independent command.”

“It’s said,” Moro said, “that eight of ten men of Aresso’s khalasar lie rotting on a hillside.”

“Nine of ten,” Jhaqo said. “And his wife now mends my leathers.”

I looked at Jhaqo.

“I didn’t know that,” I said, buying Moro time to consider.

“She is highly skilled in leatherwork,” Jhaqo said. “Ugly as a horse’s ass and fat as a cow, but her fingers are strong and her eye excellent.”

“She’s treated with due respect?”

“Of course,” Jhaqo said. “She will join the dosh khaleen with no ill words for you. But she wanted to work, and I had leathers needing mending. She also made the new vest your khaleesi wears.”

Until he mentioned this, I had not noticed that Daenerys now wore clothing cut to match her rounder shape.

“Very well,” Moro interrupted, tossing his arakh to me and hopping off his horse. “I am your ko. I ride with you.”

“And I am your khal,” I said, dismounting and handing the weapon back. “I ride with you.”

“And my bloodriders?”

“They are blood of your blood,” I said. “Let them ride with you, and with me.”

Each bloodrider in turn dismounted and handed me his arakh, which I returned.

“What now?” Moro asked.

“Ride with me,” I said. “We will talk of this.”

Moro believed his khalasar, now his khas, had about 18,000 warriors, with perhaps twice that many camp followers.

“You’ll select five hundred of your best fighters,” I said, “and five hundred more promising unblooded youths, and transfer them to my Companions. These are the strongest warriors of the khalasar, but also where I teach the methods that destroyed Ahesso.”

“So you send them back to their khas?”

“Some,” I said. “Some I retain. I like to have a strong reserve for the key moment in battle.”

“Reserve?”

“To hold back a portion of one’s forces, and then send them to break a weakening enemy, or support a weakening part of your own force.”

“That’s never been,” Moro said, “the Dothraki way.”

“The Stallion Who Mounts the World has never appeared to lead the Dothraki, either.”

“It is known,” Irri said, having closed up behind us.

“It is known,” the men repeated. Moro looked oddly at me.

“You have a slave to support your words?”

“It pleases me,” I said. “Is she wrong?”

“No,” he allowed. “It is known.”

“You’ll also send three thousand men to Ko Pono, and the same to Ko Aggo.”

He said nothing, quietly seething.

“It is my command,” I said.

“As you command, my khal.”

“Send your women, smiths, healers and others to join our train,” I said. “Your horsemaster will report to mine, and combine your herds with mine.”

“As you command, my khal.”

“Over the coming days, we will bend every khal to my will, to join us in our great conquest. You are the first to join, and you’ve done so willingly. You’ll find that a rewarding choice.”

We continued our training regimen as we approached the Dothraki city, now also working to integrate Moro’s men with our own. The rank-and-file took to the training enthusiastically; the Dothraki loved playing at war better than all things short of sex and actual war. Moro and his bloodriders sulked, but I monitored their thoughts to assure that their disgruntlement did not turn to thoughts of mutiny.

I realized that I had been remiss in my courtesies and so that evening, I invited Ahesso’s khaleesi to dine with my princess and I. My princess continued to swell with our child; I could not recall whether I had had children during my life in Virginia or not.

Lizhi, Ahesso’s widow, matched Jhaqo’s description but proved a vibrant woman, a most pleasant companion with a ready laugh. She felt gratitude toward me for slaying her husband, and enjoyed what she knew to be her brief moment of freedom.

“Neither of you is Dothraki,” she observed. “What do you know of Dothraki women?”

“Very little,” I admitted. “My princess has two Dothraki handmaids.”

“Slaves, yes? And young besides?”

“So they are.”

“They are pleasing to look upon,” Lizhi said. “What have they told you, of Dothraki women?”

“To ride,” Daenerys said. “And to speak.”

“Nothing else?”

“I still speak slowly.”

Lizhi nodded.

“You’ll never be the Stallion Who Mounts the World,” she told me, shaking her head. “You think power comes from your arakh, do you not?”

“I wield a sword,” I said. “And yes, strength is power.”

“You are stupid, as are all men.”

“Explain,” I said, following her unspoken wish.

“Men are the arm of the Dothraki,” she said. “Women the heart. Have you given any thought at all to how you’ll address the dosh khaleen?”

“None,” I admitted.

“Have you spoken to a single free Dothraki woman?”

“None,” I repeated.

“And do you know anything of the prophecy regarding the Stallion Who Shall Mount the World?”

“He will unite the Dothraki,” I said. “And he will be Drogo’s successor.”

“Drogo’s _khalakka_ ,” she corrected. “His son. Are you his son?”

“No.”

She sighed.

“That’s all you know of the Stallion?”

“He will be borne by a silver mare.”

“Men see the strength of your arm and they wish to follow. They brush aside that you are not Dothraki because you ride like you were born to the saddle. They want what they want, and so they read the prophecy to match what they want.”

“The dosh khaleen will not agree,” I said, following her thoughts. “Is there anything else to the prophecy?”

“He will have great powers unlike those of other men. Do you have such powers, John Carter?”

“I do.”

“Such as?”

I motioned Irri and Jhiqui to leave us.

“I have enormous physical strength, as you have heard.”

“Yes.”

“I am able to communicate with horses, as though I speak their language, as you have heard.”

“Yes.”

“I am able to speak many languages, as you may or may not have heard.”

“I had not heard, but I don’t doubt you.”

“Those last two are because I can read the thoughts of others.”

She did not believe me. My princess was unsure she had understood the Dothraki phrasing, and thought I referred to an understanding of body language. I did not correct her misapprehension.

 _You know what I’m thinking right now?_ she thought.

“Yes,” I said aloud. “And that you imagine me unclothed.”

“All women imagine such,” Lizhi said. “You do not jest?”

“I do not. The range is limited to perhaps half a mile, somewhat more with a great deal of concentration, and I can only understand what someone is thinking at the time. I can’t control the thoughts or acts of others, nor can I project my thoughts into theirs or search their minds for information. But I can understand that they are thinking at the moment I look into their mind.”

“That would be a power unlike those of other men,” Lizhi allowed. “You will need to demonstrate it.”

“I’ve kept it secret,” I said. “It’s far more effective when others don’t know to guard their thoughts.”

“I imagine so,” she said. “Yet it will not be enough for the dosh khaleen.”

“They will not accept it as proof of the prophecy?”

“They will not,” she said. “You will need a khaleesi, a Dothraki khaleesi, to speak for you.”

“You would do this?”

“I would give you this gift,” she said. “As you will give one to me.”

“And that gift will be what?”

“You will bring great changes. One of these will be to allow the dosh khaleen to live outside Vaes Dothrak, to share their wisdom. I will share my wisdom with you, and teach your khaleesi what it is to be a khaleesi of the Dothraki. The lone khaleesi of the Dothraki. Far better than your slave girls can do, even the smart one with the pretty tits.”

“My chieftain,” Daenerys said, in Valyrian. “She speaks good sense.”

And so she did. I was not yet fully Dothraki. The Dothraki accepted Daenerys to please me, but they would never accept her separately from me. Were I to fall in battle, men of my own khalasar would rape and kill my beloved princess; to think otherwise was to inhabit the realm of fantasy.

“Very well,” I said. “I shall accept your bargain. You will aid me in gaining the approval of the dosh khaleen, to declare me the Stallion, and for my khaleesi to be accepted as khaleesi of all Dothraki. Should you succeed, I shall free you and the others, and you will accompany me afterwards as honored teacher and advisor.”

“Should I fail,” she said, “you will be dead. As will I.”

“Then you had best succeed.”

* * *

My first view of the great city of the Dothraki proved rather unimpressive. The great statues of rearing stallions of which I had heard such boasts turned out to be four hooves and perhaps a few yards of hock rising out of them.

“I don’t see a rearing stallion,” I told Pono.

“You must imagine it!” he said. “See it with your Dothraki heart, with the eyes on the inside your head.”

“I expected a pair of stallions I could see with the eyes on the outside of my head.”

“We are not builders,” Pono explained. “We break others to our will, and they perform such work.”

“Why the tales of a rearing horse entryway?”

“Many khals wished to build this,” he said. “Or have it built for them, and so gain renown. But none knew how to design such a thing, and none ever captured a Lamb Man who could be forced to do so.”

“They could have paid for it.”

“We do not use money, Khal John,” Pono actually smiled. “And such a statue is far too great an enterprise to expect to be gifted.”

* * *

Though the Dothraki claimed that no one lived in Vaes Dothrak permanently except for the dosh khaleen, this was not exactly true. At least 20,000 slaves removed the waste of horses and people, stocked the larders with the food brought by the khalasars and repaired the buildings, roads and the aqueduct. The structures were mud-wattle huts for the most part, with a few sturdy structures of wood or stone reserved for khals and their entourages. Overseeing the work, a small staff of Dothraki overlords also arranged food and lodging with the aid of several hundred enforcers. These men were the only ones permitted to carry steel weapons within the confines of the Dothraki gathering place.

We stacked our weapons outside the city, where about half of the khalasar camped including most of our non-combatants. I left Steel Flame with Rakharo, who would command those left outside the city for three days before Aggo relieved him. I knew that Doreah retained her stiletto blades, but had them well-hidden and I decided that I wished at least one of Daenerys’ companions to be armed. Should she be found out, she would be a minor loss to my household.

As khal of the largest khalasar, I received the largest of the stone buildings as accommodation for myself and my entourage. I took the top floor of the building’s three stories, with my princess, her handmaids, her guards Belwas and Calye, and my chief of staff plus several of my household slaves. Our accommodations were spare, but clean; the city’s overlords provided food and fodder but we were responsible for preparing our own meals and cleaning our quarters.

An older Dothraki named Villo appeared at our building on the first evening, with messages for me.

“The dosh khaleen will entertain your khaleesi in two days’ time,” he said. “She should present herself at the first hour of morning, wearing appropriate clothing.”

“She will be ready,” I said. “And the Khalar Vezhven?”

“At sundown on the same day. Not all khals have reached the city.”

“I will address them.”

“As expected,” he said. “Assuming that the dosh khaleen accept your claim.”

“Are any preparations necessary?”

“If the dosh khaleen have accepted you, then speak to the khals as you will. If they have not, you’ll be dead, so it won’t matter.”

“They have warriors?”

“They have their ways,” Villo said. “You’re the first to make the claim in many years. No one remembers the last, only that it didn’t end well.”

“And what do you believe?”

“That I have one more year in service to the dosh khaleen before I can seek a khal who’ll accept me. I’d like to ride in battle one more time before I die.”

“You have no opinion?”

“We take no part in arguments between khals. We make sure everyone’s fed, no one kills the merchants, and that the shit is shoveled away.”

“How did you come to serve here?”

“The khals are asked for men to aid the dosh khaleen, to make the city run. Men who can read and write. I could, and I’d taken an arrow to the thigh, so I was expendable. After five years, one who serves can return to any khalasar that will have him.”

“You can read and write?”

“I can.”

“When your service here is done, seek me and I will find a place for you.”

He left, and I sought out Lizhi, who I found stitching a leather sword-belt. She looked at me somewhat disdainfully.

“You’re not used to a problem you can’t solve with your blade.”

She was not wrong.

“What will they ask of Daenerys?”

“She’ll eat the heart of a stallion,” the former khaleesi said, “that you will kill with a stone blade. You will take one warrior to assist, one honored but clearly junior to you. I would suggest Rakharo.”

I nodded. “You’ve prepared my princess?”

“As best I could. With the slaves Irri and Jhiqui, we fed her raw flesh, and had her smell bloody meat and organs. She vomited. It is difficult for a woman with child to do otherwise. But when she faces the dosh khaleen, she must eat the entire heart and not vomit.”

“Perhaps if she fasted?”

“You are a fool, like all men. She will only be more likely to retch. The handmaids will feed her plain, bland foods before the test, to keep her belly well-settled.”

“You passed this test yourself?”

“No,” Lizhi said. “I bore children well away from Vaes Dothrak. It’s rare, and considered a great omen, when a khaleesi bearing a khalakka appears for the Khalar Vezhven.”

“What became of them? Your children.”

“You killed my son,” she said. “You, your riders or more likely your crawlers with crossbows. None of my others lived past their early days.”

Her thoughts bore no anger for me, which I found surprising.

“You don’t hate me for it?”

“No,” she said. “I hate his father for it, and you killed Ahesso personally. So that balances the scales.”

“Tell me about the Khalar Vezhven.”

“There’s little to tell. The khals will gather, you’ll stand before them and speak. They may bring their bloodriders, _ko_ s and if they wish their khaleesi, but no more. They’ve all heard of you, and the prophecy, so they expect to hear from you. One of the dosh khaleen will introduce you, probably me, and your _ko_ s will stand behind you as you tell them how you plan to conquer the world. Nothing detailed; you need to inspire them with your leadership. You can make plans later.”

“And if they refuse?”

“They won’t. It’s purely a ceremony. If they planned to refuse you, they wouldn’t be here. They await the word of the dosh khaleen. If you fail there, you’ll be dead and they’ll meet as though it were any other Khalar Vezhven. Should you succeed, they will not challenge the will of the old women.”

“Villo, a man of the dosh khaleen, said that not all khals have arrived.”

“Then they’re still deciding whether to follow you,” the former khaleesi said. “It’s a sign of favor that this Villo spoke to you at all beyond giving you time and place.”

“Can we influence the khals?”

“Directly? No. Khal Moro, now Ko Moro, is greatly respected and bringing him into your khalasar was your greatest victory so far. Send him to speak on your behalf, and watch his thoughts. If he betrays you, kill him promptly.”

She spoke good sense, though I would miss Moro were I forced to kill him.

“I must join the dosh khaleen at sundown today. Keep track of my thoughts.”

* * *

My princess wished to see the city of the Dothraki, and so I accompanied her on foot along with Mormont, Calye, Belwas and Rakharo. Six of my Companions trailed some yards behind us, as though not connected to our party.

The “city” was in truth a semi-permanent encampment. Even in the afternoon we found many drunken Dothraki sprawled in the walking paths that served as streets, and couples could be seen engaging in sex in the open though my telepathic senses told me that far more were doing so inside the ramshackle wooden buildings. All such couples consisted of a man and a woman; the Dothraki rightly considered coupling between two men or two women to be an abomination, an opinion with which I strongly agreed. Such people were immediately put to death when found, and I considered adding such provisions to the law code I would promulgate once my rule became secure.

Daenerys loved the markets, broad plazas filled with wooden stalls. The Eastern market hosted traders from the East, lands even stranger than those I had seen so far. Belwas identified the men who appeared Chinese to me as people from the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, an enormously wealthy land well to the south-east and ruled by a god-emperor. I spoke with several of the merchants, and learned that at least three god-emperors currently claimed lordship, with hundreds of minor princes heading semi-independent realms. Yi Ti was clearly a ripe fruit to be plucked by the Stallion Who Mounts the World.

Others were of a stranger sort. Belwas pointed out several people wearing robes and hoods that obscured their entire body, with painted masks over their faces. He named them “shadow binders” from a place far to the east known as the Shadow Lands. They watched us; their guarded thoughts showed them well aware of my identity and that of my princess, but my very existence confused them. Apparently their own prophecies, which they believed to be accurate with scientific rigor, had told them nothing of my arrival in their world. Some had argued that I must be killed, others that I must be supported, and a consensus had emerged to wait and observe.

They had much greater interest in my princess. While I examined a series of excellent steel weapons with feigned interest, I followed the thoughts of a woman who intently watched Daenerys. The woman believed that my princess would actually hatch live dragons in the funeral pyre of her Dothraki husband, which the shadow-binders would then seize for their own purposes. I decided to foil her plan by avoiding death.

I caught the thoughts of another small group following and observing us, these with curiosity rather than violent intent. Four tall women, their breasts bared, kept pace with us and like me pretended to study the various wares on offer.

“Warrior women of the Hyrkoon,” Belwas explained. “They seldom leave their cities, and kill themselves rather than be taken as slaves.”

“Calye,” I said, “approach the naked women and bade them send a representative to meet me at their convenience. Be polite.”

The women informed my bed-warmer that Calye was not, whatever her pretensions, a warrior woman. But they accepted the invitation.

* * *

On the next morning, I walked to the wooden hall of the dosh khaleen along with my princess, Rakharo, Jhiqui and Irri. Belwas, Calye and Doreah trailed some distance behind us. Outside the hall the fine white horse selected by Sajo as sacrifice to the Horse God quietly awaited us. I carried the pair of stone knives that Lizhi had found for us, and Rakharo had a ceremonial stone bowl in which we would place the stallion’s heart. Daenerys, Jhiqui and Irri wore ceremonial Dothraki robes, also prepared by Lizhi, while Rakharo and I were stripped to the waist.

I reached out to the horse’s thoughts and calmed them. Plunging the stone blade into that noble animal’s heart remains one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Usually the sacrificial horse was killed by a slash across its throat, but I had the strength to pierce its heart and I wished to minimize its suffering. I lowered the animal to the ground, and with Rakharo’s help hacked its heart out of its chest. We placed the heart in the bowl, and as Lizhi had instructed we then marked one another on the face and chest with blood from the heart.

Inside the round wooden building we found a packed earth floor, with raised steps around the edge where I counted 22 women of the dosh khaleen, including Lizhi. I placed the bowl on a small wooden table in the center of the circle, next to which my princess stood alone; Irri and Jhiqui had been directed to stand just inside the door. They would take Daenerys away should my princess fail the test.

What appeared to be the oldest of the crones stepped down to stand alongside my princess, while Rakharo and I took up our positions directly across from the dosh khaleen. If we moved to assist Daenerys, or even spoke, she would be considered to have failed.

While the crone droned through a series of chants regarding horses, battle and bravery, I caught Lizhi’s eye. She nodded, and I accessed her thoughts. She had been accepted by the others without any trouble, and quickly found several other khaleen, mostly younger women, who likewise hoped to escape their lifetime confinement. Many of the older women seemed, she felt, ready to accept my claim if, and only if, my khaleesi completed her task. On the other hand, some of the very oldest crones detested the thought of an Outlander as Stallion, and would bitterly oppose me no matter what the Horse God might rule as to my fitness.

The chants complete, Daenerys lifted the heart from the bowl and bit into it. She desperately wanted to spit out the chunk of organ, but slowly chewed and swallowed the tough and stringy flesh. The dosh khaleen began a slow, quiet chant while my princess, her face covered in blood, continued to slowly consume the stallion’s heart. Her thoughts showed panic more than once as she felt her gorge rise, but each time she forced down the mass of blood and raw meat.

Eventually, she finished. The dosh khaleen began a chant about a strong boy, and Lizhi’s thoughts indicated that I could now approach my wife. I lifted her into my arms and kissed her, despite the horse’s blood covering her face, neck and chest. The chant ended and silence fell, as the crones pondered who would speak. Lizhi strode into the center of the temple.

“He is the Stallion Who Mounts the World,” she shouted. “John Carter, Khal of khals.”

“John Carter, Khal of khals,” one of the younger women repeated. A small chorus began.

“No!” one of the older crones objected. “No Outlander can be the Stallion.”

“He killed your son,” Lizhi retorted. The woman apparently was Ahesso’s mother. “As he killed mine. You speak in anger, not in prophecy.”

“And you wanted my Ahesso dead! You harlot! You’re in league with your khal’s murderer!”

The younger khaleen returned to their chant of “John Carter, Khal of khals.”

“Put me down,” my princess murmured. I did as she asked.

“I have met your test!” she shouted, stepping between Lizhi and her mother-in-law. “I am the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the wife of John Carter, the Stallion Who Mounts the World. The Horse God has spoken, through me. His message is clear, through me. John Carter is Khal of khals, and I his khaleesi.”

In the silence that followed her outburst, another crone stepped down into the center space.

“The prophecy is clear,” she said in a shaky voice. “It does not say the Stallion shall be of Dothraki blood, only that he shall unite the Dothraki. It does say that he shall have powers unlike those of other men.”

She turned to me.

“Speak, John Carter. Do you have such powers?”

“I do,” I said. “I understand the thoughts of others.”

* * *

Dignity collapsed at the point, with the dosh khaleen arguing loudly amongst themselves - apparently their prophecies did speak of one with strange mental powers, though others argued this simply meant high intelligence or skill in battle. Eventually I was required to perform a whole series of parlor tricks before the crones accepted my ability, but that did not end the arguing. Like old women of all cultures, the dosh khaleen needed little encouragement to bicker without end.

Though I had been promised death should my claim fail, I did not detect any warriors assembling to slay me, nor any poison plots or other deadly traps. As best as I could determine, the dosh khaleen had expected their Horse God to smite me with his holy hooves.

As the arguments wore on, the relative youth of my supporters compared to the age of the angry crones began to tell. Lizhi and her friends - to whom she had quietly promised freedom from this temple - wore down their opponents with arguing, shouting and chanting. Finally, they all agreed. I would be proclaimed the Stallion Who Mounts the World.

By that point my princess had become exhausted, and I again lifted her in my arms and walked out of the temple and down the Godsway toward the lake just east of the city, known as the Womb of the World. Without prompting, Rakharo had slipped out of the temple and sent Companions throughout the city whispering of the dosh khaleen’s verdict. That would hopefully make it difficult for the crones to go back on their word.

Reaching the lake, I stepped into the waters at a gap in the reeds that lined the shore and set Daenerys on her feet. She stripped away her robes, ruined by blood, and washed away the clots covering her flesh, with help from Irri and Jhiqui. Doreah arrived with fresh clothes and stood beside me.

“She made you the Stallion,” my lovely slave said quietly. “We’d all be dead without her. All the non-Dothraki, anyway.”

“All that’s worthwhile includes risk.”

“Worthwhile for you, my khal,” Doreah said, imitating Irri’s cadence. “This one has naught but her life to hold dear.”

I felt myself grow aroused at the sight of my naked princess up to her waist in the waters, the bulge of my son beneath her flesh, and the thought of what she had just accomplished. Truly I had won the perfect wife.

“We will return to our lodgings,” I told Doreah, equally softly. “And I will take you under the open air atop the building.”

“The first to be mounted by the Stallion,” she answered. “I am honored, my khal.”

Without telepathy, I would not have caught the bitter irony in her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter gains an ally and plans a war.


	38. Chapter Twenty-Eight (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris accepts a mission for her new family.

Chapter Twenty-Eight (Dejah Thoris)

I took the lit torches Jory and Tansy carried and ground them out in the dust of the cavern floor. Full darkness descended on us. I carefully slid to the stairwell and felt my way up to the next level. Perhaps I should have taken a torch with me, but it was too late for second thoughts.

Two men stood in the center of the cavern, with two more on either side. All had drawn their swords, and all were very nervous. I crept quietly up the left side of the cavern, feeling my way from grave to grave. When one of the men thought he heard something, I stopped. Telepathic contact allowed me to locate the roughly location of each man, but did not give me enough information to pinpoint them and attack.

After what seemed like an eternity of tiny, quiet steps I approached the first man. I drew close enough to see his outline in the very dim light of the descending stairwell at the opposite end of the chamber. When he coughed, I quickly slipped behind him under cover of the noise, dagger in hand. Not wanting to collect his germs following my near-fatal encounter with this planet’s microbes – a silly notion given that I was about to end his life in a spray of blood – I waited until he finished and relaxed before I clapped my hand over his mouth and slashed my dagger across his throat. I stopped him from crying out but could not prevent his sword from scraping on the floor as I eased his body down. I wiped my dagger on his clothing and put it away.

“What was that?” another man whispered.

“Quiet!” their leader also whispered, in a harsh tone. “They’ll be here soon enough.”

“I can’t hear them talking anymore.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

I moved forward slowly until I could see the next outline. This man was nervous, moving constantly, and I would not be able to approach him so easily. When I was sure of his position, I drew my sword and charged him, abandoning my silence with a crazed scream of battle. He froze and my sword took him neatly through the neck, removing his head in a lucky strike.

While my scream had yielded a great deal of primal satisfaction, I realized that it had probably been a mistake. The four remaining men now started wildly swinging their swords; I could not predict where they might cut now that their thoughts had turned to panic. My task became easier when one of the two men in the center slashed open the arm of the other, who turned out to be their leader. The leader retaliated by burying a large knife in his friend’s belly.

The pain of the wounded man, coupled with the leader’s anger and shame, made their thoughts by far the strongest in the chamber and I slowly approached them, careful to make no sound.

“Stop!” the leader yelled. “Everyone stop. The red-eyed bitch is in here somewhere. Be quiet and we’ll find . . .”

I had reached him and placed my sword over what I thought was the center of his chest. His thoughts confirmed the feel of the cold metal point on his skin as it cut through his thin leather armor. He had left his fighting knife in his friend but had not yet drawn his sword.

“Don’t,” he said softly.

I did.

The two men who had been on the right side of the cavern as I entered were now the only ones left standing. They broke for the stairwell when they heard their leader’s dying groan and I chased them down, cutting one across the back with a powerful slash that opened him along his spine from the shoulder to the waist. His friend stumbled as he climbed the slick, polished stairs and he struck the stone steps face-first. He was not dead so I took hold of his head and cracked it against the stone several times; his thoughts confirmed that he was now dying.

I carefully walked back across the cavern, following the wall along the side and trying not to trip on any of the corpses. When my foot detected the first step, I called down the stairwell to my sisters.

“It is over! Light a new torch!”

Jory’s thoughts confirmed that they had heard me, and she fumbled in the darkness with her flint and steel to strike a spark. Unwilling to trip down the stairs in the darkness – an ignominious end for Azor Ahai – I sat on the top step and waited. After numerous attempts and a great deal of cursing, I saw light flare below me.

Within a few moments they had climbed the steps and Jory handed me a torch of my own. I used the light first to check my weapons and make sure I had cleaned them sufficiently. Then we went to survey the carnage.

“They wanted to kill us?” Jory asked. “Rape us?”

“Yes,” I said. “They hoped to take us by surprise. The leader simply wanted all of us dead, but some of his men hoped to rape Tansy and Jory. Or at least they fantasized doing so. They feared me and also Lyra too much to entertain such desires, and believed that Trisha was with us as well.”

“They feared me?” Lyra asked.

“As they should,” I answered. “Templeton had a formidable reputation.”

I felt Lyra take my hand. I squeezed it.

“Did Bronze Yohn send these men?” Jory asked. “I would have thought him too honorable.”

“Their thoughts said that they operated on their own,” I said, “and had violated Lord Royce’s orders to remain in their camp.”

The man stabbed in the belly remained alive. I squatted next to him.

“Is that correct?” I asked him

“Royce hasn’t the balls for what needs doing,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “You bitches deserve to die for the way you humiliated our lord.”

“Perhaps,” I told him. “But not today. You should not have called me ‘bitch’.”

Their leader’s knife remained in the wounded man’s abdomen, up to its hilt. I took it by its handle and shoved it upward to pierce the man’s heart.

“What will we tell Lady Sansa?” Jory asked, like my other sisters otherwise unmoved by the death all around us.

“Nothing,” Lyra answered her. “No one knew they were here. But we need to get rid of the bodies, or we’ll have created another problem.”

“In the crypts,” Tansy said. “Dejah can shift the lids, can’t you?”

“Put them in with the Stark lords?” Jory now asked.

“They’re already dead,” Lyra said. “They won’t mind.”

With my sisters holding the opposite edge to keep it from crashing to the floor and breaking, I shoved aside the lid of a crypt claiming to hold a Lord Rickard Stark. Inside were only a few bones and some ashes.

“This was Sansa’s grandfather,” Lyra explained. “He was incinerated by the mad king. I doubt these are even his bones.”

“So it’s not like we’re desecrating his grave,” Tansy said. “How many can fit in there?”

“Several,” I said. “Can you hold the lid in place without me?”

The three of them together managed to balance the lid on the edge of the carved stone basin while I fetched the corpses. After checking the bodies for money or other unidentifiable valuables I jammed four of them into the space, including the head I had lopped off one man, but could not fit any more.

“What if they rise?” Tansy asked.

“Do you suppose that they can lift the lid?” I wondered.

We decided it was best to be careful. I took out my dagger and sawed the heads off the corpses. We placed all six heads inside the crypt marked as belonging to Lady Marna Stark, and the other two headless corpses in that of Brandon Stark. We used a cloak taken from one corpse to wipe down the outside of the crypts and hide the blood but could do nothing to remove the stains on the floor; when next this cavern was fully lit to bury a dead Stark, they would be evident to anyone who cared to look. And that day would come very soon, with the bones of Arya and Eddard Stark awaiting interment. Hopefully when it did the inevitable smell would not cause someone to investigate the older crypts.

“This is really disturbing,” Jory said. “It just feels wrong.”

“We had to get rid of the bodies,” Lyra said. “If Dejah hadn’t been here, it would be us lying out there, probably raped, too.”

“If I had not been here,” I said, “they would have no quarrel with you.”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped, slightly annoyed. “We’re family now.”

“It just feels like we’ve violated some divine law,” Jory went on. “We just desecrated six corpses.”

“There are no gods,” I said. “And if there were, would you wish to follow gods who allowed the sort of evil that walks this world?”

We sat on the edge of the low stone platform underlying Brandon Stark’s crypt to share the last of our wine.

“Do people of your world follow gods?” Jory asked.

“Not as many as once did. I was imprisoned by our goddess. John Carter proved her to be mortal, and her followers ripped her apart. Far fewer follow her now.”

“You were in prison?”

“I learned how to fight as a girl,” I said, “but only became this strong and fast when I came to your world. People seeking to harm my husband, family or city tried to do so through me. We are all beautiful women, yes?”

“Some more than others,” Lyra said.

“There is no need for false modesty, underground amid the dead. We all know, from experience, how men treat beautiful women. As objects. Prizes to be won. Women have far more opportunities, and far more power, on my world than on this one, yet this social dynamic holds there as well as here. And so I was captured more than once.”

“Even by a goddess,” Jory said.

“A false goddess,” I corrected, “but yes. I am trained in the study of the natural world. And so I want to see evidence before I form a conclusion. I have seen no evidence of gods.”

“Do they go together?” Tansy leaned around Lyra to ask. “Does belief in the divine cancel out belief in _science_?”

“Science?” Jory asked.

“Study of the natural world,” I said. “A word from John Carter’s language; yours is very similar but does not seem to have one. It is the idea that there are fundamental laws of the universe and we can learn what they are; we do not need divine beings to tell us. The principle of science is that one forms a proposition, tests it, and observes the results.”

“I would like to study this _science_ ,” Jory mused.

“As for Tansy’s question,” I continued, “I do not know. I do not see why they could not co-exist, but the believer would have to keep an open mind and not fall back on magic as an explanation.”

“That’s not exactly an open-minded opinion,” Lyra said with a smile. “You have a powerful dislike for religion.”

“You are correct,” I admitted. “I should try to keep a more open mind. Do you follow a religion? I should have asked before possibly offending you.”

“I’m not offended,” Lyra said. “If we’re going to be sisters, then we need to know what we really think and believe.”

“So do you?”

“Most of us Mormonts follow the old gods, more or less. We go to the godswood and pray to natural forces that don’t even have names. My cousin, yours too I suppose now, converted to the Faith of the Seven so he could become a knight, but I doubt it was heart-felt.”

“You pray to the trees?” I asked.

“I do. It’s not really to the trees. They serve as sort of a point to focus on. I don’t believe in some gigantic person living beyond the clouds playing chevasse with peoples’ lives, no. But there is something more to all of this than just us. I just feel it. I have no – science is it? – behind that feeling.”

“You have faith,” Tansy prompted.

“Yes, faith,” Lyra answered. “Not in a named god. But that the world is more than just us, and we’re here for some reason.”

She paused.

“And you, Tansy?” Lyra asked.

“I was raised in the Seven,” my sister said, referring to the polytheistic faith of the South. “The septons won’t minister to whores unless we repent our sins, so the faith more or less left me. I didn’t see that I had anything to repent, not by their standards.”

Jory looked at her with raised eyebrows. She looked more shocked in the torchlight than her thoughts showed was actually the case.

“Oh, it’s an evil business,” Tansy answered her unspoken question. “I’m the first to say so. It uses women and it gives men yet another route to use women. No one ever wanted me to repent for making money. They wanted me to repent for the part where I was on my back.”

I did not fully understand, but Jory believed that Tansy used a common metaphor for having a male sex organ inserted into her. Jory had never experienced this act, though she had performed others with young men and had received orgasm from their fingers and from her own.

“Was it . . . bad?” she asked Tansy.

“Not always. Not many try to pleasure a whore, so usually it was bad, but not always. And it’s not like women are allowed to own and run other kinds of businesses. I made a living, a good living. People counted on me. Now I’m sin-free and I live off Dejah’s charity.”

This part I did understand.

“That is not fair to say,” I said. “I also receive charity. I have paid for none of our meals or lodging at Greywater Watch or Winterfell. Or I get money by killing people and looting their corpses, as I did moments ago. You are my sister, Tansy. That means we share what we have. I would be lost without you.”

“Yes, you would.”

Tansy leaned into Lyra’s side.

“Still happy your mother adopted me?”

“More than ever,” she answered, wrapping her arm over Tansy’s shoulders. “I knew what I was doing when I gave you that tunic.”

She wrapped her other arm over my shoulders.

“And you have four more sisters now. You’ll never be lost again.”

* * *

As I had told Sansa and her advisors, I had only desired to help my friend when I fought Lyn Corbray. And I had followed the rules as they had been explained to me; if these knights wished to call their contests a “fight to the death” then they should be prepared to die. Otherwise they should call it a “fight until the more cowardly one surrenders.”

Through no fault of my own, I had become the center of a blood feud between my adoptive Mormont family on one hand and the Corbrays and Templetons on the other. We have these on Barsoom as well, and they are just as unproductive and just as impossible to end. Though it somehow felt unreasonably stubborn, I had become resolved not to back down for my part: I would not apologize for killing either Corbray, and I would not return their ancestral sword.

Myranda Royce came to join us for Mid-Day Meal on the day after our visit to the caverns of the dead. Despite the war-torn nature of Westeros, the Winterfell kitchens supplied us every day with wonderful foods in copious quantities: as on Barsoom, during hard times the noble classes did not share the deprivations of the commoners. Today we had small birds called “Dornish hens” stuffed with some sort of spicy filling. I liked them very much, and Tansy had told me that these could be eaten with one’s fingers without violating etiquette.

Only Lyra and Tansy were with me for this encounter. Alysane was with Maege attending to the business of their island and Jory had gone to care for the horses, as always in these tense days shadowed by Trisha and my telepathy. While I would kill anyone who harmed Tansy, Lyra or Alysane, I would tear anyone who threatened my little sister into very small pieces and do so to all of their friends, family and house pets as well.

I liked Randa, but her primary loyalty lay with Sansa and her thoughts had quickly switched from the political advantage I had given Sansa when I killed Lyn Corbray to the political liability I had become with the death of Lucas Corbray. As I had come to understand, she covered her calculating mind with what she considered female prattle.

“It’s so intimidating to visit here,” she began, as the servants finished laying out the food. “I’m used to having the finest breasts in any room and with you three, well.”

Silence greeted her attempt at levity. The four of us sat around a round table, with Tansy to my left, Lyra to my right and Randa directly across from me.

“You did not come here to admire our breasts,” I said, as I speared a roasted hen with my fork and brought it to my small serving platter, known as a “plate.”

“No,” she sighed. “You read my thoughts on that one.”

I jumped slightly, but she did not seem to notice. Tansy and Lyra looked at one another but said nothing.

“Sansa will be installed as Lady of Winterfell in several days’ time,” Randa said. “It’s important that Lord Royce and the other lords of the Vale attend. It would be a terrible insult for Sansa to exclude the men who defeated the Boltons in her name.”

“As it would be,” Tansy added, “to exclude the woman who defeated Lyn Corbray, and thereby Petyr Baelish, in her name.”

“Yes,” Randa agreed. “Do you see the problem Sansa faces?”

“Not really,” Tansy said. “Dejah freed the Vale from Baelish as much as she did Sansa. We should be buried in flowers and presents. Instead those ungrateful bastards want to see my sisters buried instead.”

“Did something else happen?” Randa asked, feigning ignorance.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Tansy answered. “So what does my niece propose, and why is she not here proposing it herself? Dejah faced death, the least Sansa can do is face Dejah.”

“You know Sansa has to keep up the appearance of even-handedness.”

“Even-handedness?” Tansy asked, mocking Randa by feigning shock. “Corbray knew the rules. His brother and his starry friend knew the rules. Their minions got what they deserved.”

“So Dejah did kill them.”

“They won’t be presenting any problems.”

“There were six of them!” Randa said, truly surprised. “Two anointed knights and four men-at-arms, all experienced fighters. Even if Lyra and Trisha were there . . .”

Randa sighed, poured herself more wine, and drank deeply.

“Tansy,” Randa said, “We’re friends. All of us. I didn’t come here to argue with you. I know it’s a terribly unfair situation. Yohn Royce is my father’s cousin, and I’ve known him all of my life. He’s a stubborn old coot tied to the laws of chivalry even though he hated the Corbrays and Littlefinger.”

I placed my hand atop Tansy’s; I could tell that she grew upset on my behalf.

“Sister,” I said. “Randa is right. We should help Sansa if we can.”

I looked across at Randa.

“Tansy should be with her niece for the ceremony,” I said. “She should visit with her as well. I will wear my Mormont colors and stand with my adoptive sisters among the Mormont female soldiers. Sansa need not be concerned about my interacting with the Vale people. But I will not apologize for anything I have done in Sansa’s name, nor will my adoptive sister Lyra.”

Lyra nodded, but said nothing.

“Dejah,” Randa said, placing her hand over mine on the table. “Princess. That’s more than Sansa ever wanted. She really wants to be your friend. She just can’t have you two killing her allies.”

“Neither Lyra nor I will kill anyone who does not threaten us or those we love. Sister?”

“Of course not,” Lyra said. “Like you said, Randa, we’re all friends here. We don’t want to make things hard on Sansa. We’re just not eager to die ourselves.”

“Well that’s all settled!” Randa said. “I do so want to be friends, even with these perfect tits all around.”

“I thought only men obsessed over breasts,” I said. I enjoyed breasts as well, but though I liked her very much I did not find Myranda sexually attractive.

Randa sighed again, an affectation she used to draw attention to what she considered her best feature. This time she filled my cup before pouring more wine for herself.

“You see right through me. Are you sure you can’t read thoughts?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m insecure,” she said. “Do you know how much I hated coming here to confront you three?”

“You love Sansa very much,” I said.

“I suppose I do,” she said. “I’d never had a woman friend before Sansa. I always saw them as rivals. Her too, at first, even though I thought she was Littlefinger’s bastard. I wish I could be like one of you.”

“You can be,” Tansy said.

“I’m not jesting,” Randa said, now speaking in a serious tone. “That vile Symond Templeton grabbed my tits – three separate times – during the march from the Vale and all I could do about it was giggle. Lyra put a foot of steel through him. And she’s not even the dangerous one!”

“You don’t have to kill men to be your own woman,” Tansy said. “I’ve never killed anyone. I haven’t even been in a fight in . . . at least six months.”

“Except Melisandre,” Lyra noted.

Tansy shrugged.

“That’s easy for you to say, Tansy,” Randa said, “when you have Dejah ready to kill anyone who’d harm you.”

“But Randa, you just handled complicated politics for Sansa. There’s a lot more to you than a great set of tits, and stop pretending you don’t know it.”

“Do you really think I have great tits?” Randa stared into Tansy’s eyes for several moments, watching the anger build in them, before she burst out laughing.

“I do know it,” she continued. “I’m not on Littlefinger’s level, but I understand many of the undercurrents that others seem to miss. Sometimes I just wish that I could be a Mormont, too. Your lives seem so free.”

“Sansa needs you,” Tansy pursued her point.

“She does,” Randa nodded. “Ser Davos is a good man, but he’s not of the North and he has no feel for politics. Lords Reed and Glover and Lady Mormont are very clear that they’re just visiting.”

“Stay with my niece, then. Advise her. I know nothing of politics and Dejah knows less. And Dejah’s solutions tend to be permanent.”

This was not exactly true; I knew much about the politics of Barsoom and Helium and had observed that many principles held true on both planets. I had even considered writing a paper about this congruence. I simply did not care about the game of thrones: I had my own agenda.

“I will,” Randa said. “I’m just allowed my fantasies of riding off after adventure.”

She laughed and drank some more.

“I grew up thinking that a woman could only a follow very narrow path, and that path led through men. None of you follow it, and each of you does it in a different way. I’m also pretty sure there’s a great deal more going on behind those lovely red eyes than our day-dreaming princess lets on.”

“There is,” I said. “I thought my existence here very simple. I would find my husband and find my way home. Things are now more complicated. I find that I belong to a new family.”

“Good,” Lyra said. “I like my new sisters.”

“So do I,” Tansy said.

We had finished our meal. We spent a good deal of the afternoon sitting on the stone balcony outside our rooms, overlooking the broken glass gardens, and drinking more wine with Randa. By the time she left, it seemed that we were all friends again. This eased my mind a great deal. 

* * *

Tansy visited her niece at least twice a day, sometimes for extended periods. Westeros had little sophistication in matters of business and finance, except for its brothels. Once Sansa realized Tansy’s depth of knowledge in such matters, she sought her advice avidly on such topics as provisioning her castle against the coming winter and the collection of taxes and fees. It pleased Tansy to be of use, and it pleased me to see her recognize her own worth.

Maege came to join us not long after Myranda’s visit, while Lyra and I sat on our balcony trading our worlds’ myths and legends. My adoptive mother poured herself a goblet of wine and took a seat between us.

“I’m sorry to have stayed aloof,” she said. “Politics, you know. The Lady of Bear Island has to represent her house’s interests.”

“I was not offended,” I said. “I have enjoyed the time with my new sisters.”

“You know that I came here for a reason.”

“Our ability to read thoughts only reveals what someone is thinking at that very moment, and only if we seek that information.”

“There’s something I want to say to you,” Maege said, “talk over with you, before you read it in my mind. I’m not proud of it. It’s family business. Let me finish asking you before you look at my thoughts.”

I nodded. Lyra leaned forward with interest.

“I am a Mormont now,” I said. “You need not ask.”

“You haven’t heard the question. It’s matter of vengeance.”

“Who do you wish me to kill?”

“Walder Frey.”

“My sister Dacey was murdered on his order,” I said. “I should consider her my sister?”

“It would please me if you did,” Maege said. “I think you would have liked her.”

“Then I will consider her so. But Tansy will not approve of such vengeance.”

“Do you?”

“You know that I am no stranger to the blood feud,” I said. “I do not feel the loss of Dacey, as I never knew her. But I feel your pain, and that of my sisters, and it grieves me deeply.”

“You don’t think less of me, for asking?”

“I do not,” I said. “I know that you love me as you do your other daughters.”

“It’s not my intention to use you.” This was not exactly true; she had named me her daughter precisely to use me as an instrument of vengeance, and felt a great deal of guilt for this. “But this burns to the very depths of me. They took my Dacey. I want them dead.”

“I understand. I only worry about my sister’s feelings. My sister Tansy.”

“She’s a Mormont as well,” Lyra said. “And she’s no wilting Southern flower, despite her name. She may have fewer objections than you believe.”

“Do you agree?” I asked Lyra. “Do you wish me to kill the Freys?”

“Yes,” she said, decisively. “But not alone. You and I, together.”

“Arya Stark wished me to help kill Walder Frey and his family,” I said. “I refused. I knew little of the Stark family, and what I did know, I did not like.”

I paused, wondering how best to tell them my feelings. I had no trouble expressing simple concepts with only spoken words, but more complex ideas posed more difficulties. When they involved emotion, I sorely felt my inability to open my thoughts to my sister and surrogate mother.

“You made me part of your family, and I have enjoyed that very much. The acceptance, the warmth, the love. I needed these things. I felt abandoned and alone. I had my sister, but when one person loves you, that may be a . . .” I wished to say, “anomaly,” but did not know their word, “a special, unique occurrence. When others do as well . . .

“I know that I appear silly and foolish when I am not fighting, and sometimes, perhaps often, I am. But I have been a princess for a very long time. I knew there would be obligations to go with that love.

“The Frey family murdered the sister I never knew, they killed Tansy’s niece, and they stabbed me in the back. You wish vengeance. I do not know if this will ease your pain, but I will fulfill my obligations as a Mormont. I will help you kill the Frey family. All of them.”

They did not understand that I meant exactly what I had said. We sat for some time, once again looking past the shattered glass gardens to the snow-covered fields beyond Winterfell’s walls and drinking wine, but said no more. 

* * *

The next morning brought a bright sun, and new arrivals: a troop of dirty men and women dressed in ragged skins and led by a massive white-haired man who bellowed loudly for “The Stark.” He could not be heard from where we practiced swords in the courtyard, but I had picked up the startled thoughts of the guards. I excused myself from a practice bout with Ser Kyle, put away my practice sword, picked up my real blade and gestured for Lyra to join me.

Three nervous Winterfell soldiers stood across the open gateway, unsure whether they should attempt to shut the gates in the face of these visitors; apparently they had not spotted their approach until the group had drawn very close. A fourth soldier had rushed off in search of Sansa Stark.

The large man briefly fell silent when he spotted my adoptive sister and I, his eyes drawn to our Mormont tunics but, unusually, not to our breasts.

“She-Bears!” he shouted, shoving the soldiers aside and striding toward us. His thoughts indicated no wish to harm us so I did not draw my sword; I waved to Lyra to take her hand off hers. He enfolded me in a smothering embrace, then released me and did the same to Lyra. He was no taller than we, but of enormous girth.

“You don’t know me, do you? Has she said nothing of me?”

“He is not dangerous,” I said to Lyra, “but he is very strange.”

“Har! That’s true indeed! At least I’m no danger to my beloved She-Bears! Do you truly not know me?”

“Should we?” Lyra asked.

“Tormund Giantsbane, husband to bears?”

She shook her head. I did as well.

“Speaker to gods? Breaker of ice?”

We shook our heads again. Several more Winterfell soldiers came rushing forward; I waved them back with my hand.

“She said nothing of me,” he said, sadly. “She said she would say nothing, but I imagined she would anyway.”

He thought of a woman wearing Mormont colors much like ours, and then thought of her wearing nothing. He pictured a young Maege. That made me smile; she had been quite desirable in her youth. The present-day Maege arrived soon afterwards, along with Sansa Stark and the rest of her advisors. That brightened the face of Tormund Giantsbane.

“My She-Bear!” he roared when he saw Maege, then wrapped her in a crushing embrace as well. “You never told our daughters?”

“No,” she said. “I told you it was but one chance meeting, never to be repeated or spoken of.”

“But we did repeat it!”

“Two chance meetings, then.”

“And these are my daughters?”

Maege stood between us, very proud of both of us. She had unsure thoughts regarding Tormund, who apparently had been highly skilled at giving her orgasm.

“This is my adopted daughter, Dejah,” she said, putting one hand on my back. “She is a princess born in a far land, but she is a Mormont now.”

Tormund actually bowed.

“And this beauty? I can see that she’s mine.”

“Oh gods no,” Lyra murmured.

“Yes, Tormund,” she said, placing her other hand on Lyra’s back. “Her name is Lyra. She is my third-born of five.”

“A spearwife among the kneelers!” he shouted. “I’d know you for my daughter, a woman bearing a sword among all these soft Southerners.”

He bowed again and turned back to Maege.

“We had but one, then? You believed yourself with child each time.”

“Two. My eldest was killed at what they call the Red Wedding.”

“Aye, where the Stark boy-king died as well,” Tormund said. “Jon Snow told of this. She was a spear-wife?”

“One of the king’s personal guard.”

“I’d expect no less. She died well?”

“No,” Maege said. “Murdered by those she thought friends.”

Tormund muttered angrily, kicking at the snow in frustration. His thoughts showed that he grieved for Dacey’s death, and felt great sympathy for Maege’s loss.

“Five had I as well. Two sons died in the fighting at the Wall, and one after. I know the pain. But a son and a daughter are here.”

“I’ll look forward to greeting them,” Maege said. “These are my daughter Jory, and my daughter and heir, Alysane.”

Tormund bowed to each, then spotted Sansa Stark.

“Touched by fire!” he bellowed. “You’d be Jon Snow’s sister, and rule here?”

“I am. I do.”

Tormund suddenly became much more sober.

“I have much to tell, that you need to hear. Can you let my people within your walls?”

“How many?”

“Perhaps three hundred,” he said. “Tired and hungry they are.”

Maege thought a question at me. I nodded.

“I believe we can trust them,” she said to Sansa.

“Very well,” Sansa said. “Follow my guard Mollen, he’ll take you to warm and dry quarters and provide food and drink.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris sees Sansa Stark invested as Lady of Winterfell.


	39. Chapter Twenty-Nine (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris makes new friends.

Chapter Twenty-Nine (Dejah Thoris)

Lyra and I followed at the rear of the procession heading to Sansa’s meeting room. Tansy joined us.

“You look,” she told Lyra, “like someone smashed your head with a rock.”

“I wish they had,” she answered. “My father is a wildling. Insane even as wildlings go.”

“Mine was a whoremonger who sent me to a brothel,” Tansy said. “Wait, that man is your father?”

“Yes.”

My father was a prince, a scholar, a renowned legal authority and a successful fleet commander. I decided that this was not the time to share such.

“So when Maege talks about a bear . . .”

“Apparently that’s the bear.”

“What is so bad about wildlings?” I asked.

“They live north of the Wall, in the lands across the Bay of Ice from Bear Island,” Lyra explained. “They paddle across to Bear Island in small boats. They rape, they rob, they murder. They’re the reason Mormont women fight.”

“You’ve fought them,” Tansy said, not really asking.

“Yes, and killed them. To have been fathered by one, apparently willingly . . .”

“He is not a bad man,” I said. “He is not couth, but he is very intelligent. And very worried about something.”

“You want me to feel better.”

“I am your sister,” I said. “Of course I want you to feel better. But I also tell you the truth. I have found no treacherous thoughts in Tormund Giantsbane. He is not pretending; he is very proud of you.”

Lyra’s unhappiness eased slightly. We had reached the conference room and took seats. Tormund insisted that Lyra and I sit on either side of him and, when he learned that Tansy was also a She-Bear despite the gown she wore, that our sister sit behind him in the one of the chairs lining the wall.

As soon as all were seated, Tormund looked about.

“The Onion Knight can vouch for me,” he said. Ser Davos nodded his head. “As can this She-Bear.” He slapped me, hard, on the back. I looked at him.

“You have the sight,” he said. “Don’t deny it.”

“It is true,” I said. “He is a strange man but I trust his good will.”

“Among our peoples,” Lord Glover said. “One does not normally pound a princess in that manner.”

I noted that his thoughts showed more concern that I might create a new diplomatic incident by disemboweling the wildling leader than for my fragile female person. Neither pleased me, but I supposed I would rather be seen as dangerous than as helpless.

“Aye,” said Tormund. “But this is a She-Bear. And you’ll note she didn’t flinch.”

“I take no offense,” I quickly added. “It is the wildling way.”

“We prefer ‘Free Folk’.”

“As you will,” said Sansa Stark, taking control of her meeting. “You said you had information of some urgency.”

“I do; ’twas important to mark my standing first. You need to heed my words.”

“As you say. What are those words?”

“I trusted Jon Snow. Fought alongside him. I loved that boy, I did. Crows murdered him.”

“The Night’s Watch killed their own Lord Commander?” Ser Davos asked, stunned. The others in the room murmured uneasily.

“Aye. He let the Free Folk through the Wall. Added us to his ranks, he did. Some hated him for it. And killed him for it. Stabbed by many knives, he was.”

“The Night’s Watch then sent you away?” Sansa asked. “After they murdered my brother?”

“No. That is, aye. It is much worse than that, Red Wolf. Jon Snow, he rose. From the grave. He became one of them, the Others, but far worse.”

“The Night’s King,” Howland Reed said. “His destiny.”

“Aye. The Night’s King. He slaughtered his brother Crows, those what killed him and those what didn’t, and they rose as well. They all rose to follow him. We fled. We lost most. But we made it here.

“They’re coming. A shambling lot of the dead, as far as you can see. They come with the cold.”

“Yours are the last wildlings?” Sansa asked.

“Free Folk,” Tormund corrected. “And aye, as far as I know. There could be more, but I don’t see how.”

“You wish to remain here?”

“Aye.”

“You will fight for me?”

“Aye.”

“You will obey me?”

“We’ll not bend the knee for no one,” Tormund said. “We’ll follow your rules as you set them forth, and your orders in battle.”

“I will consult my advisors and render a decision by day’s end. Until that time, you are our welcome guest, within our rules.” 

* * *

We rose to leave, and I felt a gigantic arm clap down across my shoulders. Tormund had done the same to Lyra.

“Come, daughters!” Tormund bellowed. “Tell me of your lives.”

I slipped out from under the arm, and took my adoptive sister by the hand. We led Tormund to the Great Hall, where the servants brought us a great deal of grilled meat and several flagons of ale. The three of us sat facing the massive Free Person, my sisters on either side of me. I noted that Marsden and three other Mormont soldiers soon occupied the neighboring table, as though they had gathered for a drink.

“You are a fighter, yes?” he asked Lyra, gesturing with the roasted leg of a baby sheep.

“I fought in battles for King Robb, first as an archer, then a file-closer.”

“File closer?”

“You keep the soldiers in line during battle, so the enemy can’t break the shield-wall.”

“Aye, we do that as well. A deadly place if the enemy is wise.”

“It can be.”

“I love a woman who knows how to fight,” Tormund said. “Your mother raised you well, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Aye, she’s woman enough to be of the Free Folk, that She-Bear. You know she did not want me around?”

“I’d guessed as much.”

“Do not blame her,” he said. “You’d not have wanted me as your father.”

“I don’t. I mean, I don’t blame her. Nor do I blame you.”

“Har. I’ve done nothing wrong. She’s done nothing wrong. No one has. I’ll not intrude on you. ’tis only curiosity.”

He turned to Tansy.

“You! You’re a woman!”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Sister to these two you say, but you have the look of the Red Wolf.”

“Aunt to Lady Sansa,” Tansy said, “on her mother’s side.”

“You’re a woman who’s seen life in the South.”

“You could say that.”

“Good. You keep watch on that niece of yours. Just a girl, she is. Fire inside, to be sure, just like you. And your other sister here.”

He looked closely at me.

“You’ve matched me, meat and ale.”

“I am still growing.”

“You’re a strange one. But I like you.”

“You liked Jon Snow as well.”

“That I did.”

“I am told,” I said, “that I must kill him.”

That shocked both of my sisters, but not Tormund.

“Aye. Daughter of the Red Star, you’d be. I figured as much.”

He believed that title, out of some tale of his people, to be figurative.

“So you bear the red sword?” he asked.

I drew my sword and laid it on the table between us. He touched it gently, with just two fingers.

“Can feel the power in it.”

“Are you some sort of seer?” Tansy asked him.

“Har! No. I listen to the storytellers. Seen too much now to doubt them: the dead walking, giant ice spiders, the Others.”

“Tell me,” I said, “what you know of the Night’s King.”

“Seems there’s more than one such legend,” Tormund said. “In all I’ve heard tell, he leads the Others. Some say he’ll rise anew, some say he’s an ancient evil come again. My guess, he’s both, an ancient evil in a new body. Legends say he was made by a white woman, and so must be put to rest by a red woman. That’d be the Daughter of the Red Star.”

He drank down more ale.

“The original was a Lord Crow. Stands to reason the new one would be as well.”

“Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch?” I clarified.

“Aye.”

“Jon Snow is the Night’s King?”

“Aye. Saw it myself. Saw the Others follow his will.”

“These Others,” I asked, “they can be killed?”

“Aye. Dragonglass, a black glass like this,” he pulled out a long, primitive-looking dagger made of hand-chipped glass and placed it on the table next to my sword. It appeared to be the volcanic residue we call obsidian. I also noted that Sansa Stark needed more watchful guards. “And steel like yours; Jon Snow had such a sword as well.”

“Just a touch, or an actual wound?”

“Jon Snow fought an Other just like a normal man, killed it with a stroke to the body. It sort of melted. Was fighting myself, mind you, so wasn’t watching close, but didn’t seem like just a cut would do.”

“They are good fighters?”

“Strange, they are,” he said. “Hard to follow as they move. But no better than a good man with a sword, no. Not brave, not at all. They’d rather their wights did the fighting.”

“In the legends of the Free Folk, the Promised One is a woman?”

“Aye. Southrons, they think women soft. Free Folk know better. You got it in you to kill ’im?”

“I am very good at killing people.”

“Aye, it’s in your red eyes,” he nodded. “But this isn’t the same, killing what’s already dead. Had to finish my own son when he rose . . .”

His voice trailed off, then he banged his empty flagon on the table.

“Enough! Let’s see if you can match the Mead-King drink for drink, She-Bears.”

We spent the rest of the day with Tormund; I became rather drunk well before he did. I slowed my intake, as a princess is taught to do discreetly, but both of my sisters matched his drinking. Eventually his son Toregg, daughter Munda and her husband Ryk joined us. I could see that Toregg and Munda shared Lyra’s golden-brown eyes.

“I’m told you’re our sister,” Toregg said. “I lost three brothers at the wall. Nice to meet some new kin.”

Lyra rose and grasped his offered hand, then did the same with Munda.

“Half-sister,” she said. Neither woman disliked the other, but neither sought sisterhood. They were what we of Barsoom know as “sisters of the egg,” a far less binding relationship than that of “sisters of the heart.”

“There’s no difference among the Free Folk,” Munda said. “We share blood, and that’s all that counts.”

Lyra introduced Tansy and I as her sisters, and we repeated the clasping of hands.

They were rough people; John Carter had gotten along well with rough people but as a princess I had been shielded from contact with those considered uncouth. Compared to the people of Helium, all the inhabitants of Westeros were barbarians, separated only by degree.

Even so, I liked them. The younger Free Folk feared the people of Winterfell, but Tormund had convinced them that they were all related to the three of us and therefore we could be trusted. A steady supply of ale helped put them at ease.

I learned a great deal about these Free Folk and their culture, which they now – probably rightly – assumed to be extinct. I also learned more about my adoptive family; after consuming enough ale Lyra felt more at ease with these guests than I had expected. It appeared that the Mormonts traded regularly with the Free Folk, exchanging finished items like alcohol and steel blades for products from the frozen lands like gold nuggets, animal tusks and furs, and a substance called “amber” that apparently was treasured as a jewel. This trade went on in secret – none of my drinking companions dared discuss it aloud, even when somewhat intoxicated – and I understood that it would bring my new family many problems with the other Northern houses were it known. And now I understood that Maege had encountered Tormund while carrying on this illicit trade.

Tormund claimed that 100,000 Free Folk had gathered to try to force their way past the Wall, and some 3,000 had actually passed through with Jon Snow’s approval. While the far North had been described to me as utterly frozen, this apparently was not exactly true and some limited farming took place as well as livestock-raising. That obviously had to happen were such a number of people to be supported.

All four of them told us wild tales of bizarre creatures and people found in the far North, some of which they believed to be true. While women apparently had a great deal of freedom, going to war, leading clans and having equal voice in group decisions, men chose their wives by “stealing” them. The women could acquiesce or fight back as they wished, but if unable to defend themselves they apparently would be forced to serve the man.

“That does not seem very free,” I said. “Does a woman not have the chance to steal a man?”

“No,” Toregg answered. “Men steal women, but only when the red wanderer lies before the moon.”

“Red wanderer?” I asked, feeling my breath grow short.

“In the night sky,” he explained. “Seven wanderers roam the heavens.”

“You can see the Red Wanderer?” I asked. “From your homelands?”

“Not always,” Toregg said. “Only at times no one can predict. But fairly often.”

I looked at Tansy.

“It’s seen rarely in the South,” she said. “The Faith does say that there are seven wanderers in the sky. When I told you about them, I didn’t know then about your, um, personal interest in the red one.”

“Thinking of home, Daughter of the Red Star?” Tormund asked, amused.

“Yes. I did not think that I could go home.”

I had slipped, but he did not think I literally meant that this red wanderer was my home world, only that I would somehow use it in some magic ritual to return home.

“Could be you have to be in the North,” he said, “the real North, to see your red wanderer.”

It could be. And if I held out my arms to this red star, would I return to Barsoom, to Helium? I felt the warmth of my sisters’ thighs and shoulders pressed against mine on either side. Would I wish to do so? I could return to the arms of my sister Thuvia.

“Would you want a man you could easily defeat?” Munda asked me, breaking my reverie.

“No,” I said. “That sometimes is the way of our lands as well, though we do not take without permission. There is more to a woman than her ability to fight.”

“In these lands, that is true. Less so in ours.”

“Ours no longer exist,” her husband said. “We will have to learn their ways.”

“Yes,” I said. “This ‘taking’ seems very close to rape. Rape merits the death penalty here. As it should.”

“Aye,” agreed Ryk. “A woman who cannot defend herself should not be taken.”

“The Free Folk rape when they raid, do they not?”

“It’s happened, aye,” Tormund said. “Crows rape women and children north of the Wall as well.”

“It will not happen now that you are south of the Wall.”

“You’re threatening?”

“I am promising.”

Tormund and I locked eyes for what seemed a very long while, then he laughed.

“As you will,” he said.

“What makes a woman strong, then, if she does not fight?” Munda diverted the discussion back to the earlier track. “You fight, as does Lyra who is our shared sister. Your other sister does not.”

“Tansy’s the strongest of us three,” Lyra said. “A strong woman, a real woman, decides her own path. She may do so with a man, or without, but she does it by her own choice.”

“Southron women have such choice?”

“Not often,” Tansy said. “I’m not sure I agree with Lyra. Trying to be a strong woman like as not will get you killed. Or worse.”

“These She-Bears respect you,” Toregg said. “You can see it.”

“I don’t know why,” Tansy said. “I feel weak, like Dejah has to keep saving me.”

Sansa Stark quietly took the seat next to her. Behind me, I felt two Winterfell soldiers join Marsden’s group, similarly hefting mugs of ale but not actually drinking.

“The lone wolf dies,” Sansa said, “but the pack survives.”

The four Free People nodded their heads.

“I seem to recall you saving Dejah’s life not long ago,” she said to Tansy. “At the risk of your own. And not for the first time, according to Ser Davos. You’re part of their pack. And mine as well. As will be the Free Folk, if it’s their will. I would like you all to stay with us at Winterfell.”

“Har,” Tormund said, seemingly his favorite comment. “That would be a fine thing. Drink with us.”

He slid a large cup made of horn to Lady Stark, and filled it with ale. She looked at it a moment, then took it up, drank it down, slammed the cup on the table and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. All four Free People burst into loud laughter.

“You’ll do,” Toregg said, raising his cup to Sansa Stark. “Takes all types to make a pack, it does.”

“What would you have us do?” Tormund asked.

“Your fighters will help man the walls. Ser Davos will arm them as needed, and assign them watches. We’ll find work for the others.”

“We’ll not be servants,” Tormund said. “Outside work, aye, it’s no problem. We’ll hunt, we’ll cut wood and the like. But all the grown men and women are fighters, naught else survived. We have a few children but that’s all.”

Sansa nodded.

“I am sorry for your loss, but glad to add your strength to ours.”

She stood.

“I have other business that needs attending. Please try not to get our princess too drunk. Could you come with me, Tansy?”

I did not think I looked very drunk, at least not yet. Sansa and Tansy left us; I rose as well and sheathed my sword. Lyra joined me.

“I am glad to know you all,” I told the Free Folk. “I hope to speak with you again.”

“And you, She-Bear?” Tormund asked Lyra.

“I’m still surprised,” she said. “But not sad at all. I’m happy to know you as well.”

I took her hand as we left the Great Hall. I had come to love my adoptive sister and knew her thoughts to be confused.

“Are you well?” I asked her.

“Like I told them,” she said. “It’s a shock, but I knew Mother sought fathers for her children outside of Bear Island. I just never thought to meet mine.”

I nodded. A narrow genetic pool needed outside input. I approved of Maege’s decision.

“They’re not bad people,” she continued. “Strange, as all wildlings. Do you see me any differently?”

We were now alone in one of the castle’s long corridors. I stopped her and put my hands on the sides of her shoulders, imitating her treatment of me several days before.

“You would be strange to me regardless, do you not remember my origin? You are my sister, and I love you today as fiercely as I did yesterday. There are no exceptions to that. You have accepted Tansy’s profession and the awful things I have done, without question. Do you imagine that we would do less?”

“What did you read in his mind?”

“He is what he seems. Concerned for his people, afraid of the advancing army of the dead, trying to hide his worries with a bluff persona. You did not need to read thoughts to know that.”

“No,” she said, “but I worried all the same.”

I pulled her close.

“Do not worry so. You already know who you are. And I need to lie down now.”

“So the red princess does get drunk?”

“Terribly,” I confessed. “I was taught to sip carefully while appearing to drink deeply, and to hide the effects. That does not stop the effects.”

“Aye, I’m pretty drunk, too.”

I awoke in a tangle of sisters; Tansy had joined us at some point and darkness had fallen. Someone, probably not one of us, had kindled a fire and lit a pair of thick candles. I extracted myself as gently as I could, and drank a great deal of water from the pitcher in our chambers. These people had no drug treatments for what John Carter had called a “hangover,” and I doubted they would work on my brain if they did.

A wide and comfortable chair stood next to our bed, and I sat with my feet propped on the sideboard while I drank water and watched my sisters sleep. I might be able to take Tansy and run from this place, fast and far, and elude this Night’s King. But Lyra would never abandon her family.

I watched Tansy stir in her sleep and fling an arm and a leg across Lyra, as she often did to me, and I knew that I could not leave my new adoptive sister; like Tansy, I had come to love her as well.

Nor could I leave the rest of my new family. I felt far more protective of Jory than I ever had of my own daughters, including Tara. Had I fallen into the same trap as Tansy had with Arya Stark? I did not think so; I was well aware that Jory was not my daughter. Yet I did look on her now as a younger sister I loved very much, and would fight to protect. Once again, I had changed.

I would speak with Tormund again, and learn whatever else he knew about these not-dead beings and their Night’s King. And when the time came, I would kill this Jon Snow for good.

* * *

Several days later, the time came for Sansa Stark’s investiture ceremony, in which she would formally claim the title of Lady of Winterfell. I knew that she and her advisors – Ser Davos, Howland Reed, Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover and Myranda Royce – had been locked in an intense debate over whether she should not also claim the title of Queen in the North. I had not been invited to these deliberations, which I appreciated since I lacked the background knowledge to offer an informed opinion and did not care enough to obtain it.

Tansy at times attended these meetings with her niece, as did Alysane. The lords of the North had apparently classified me as simply another younger Mormont daughter and I preferred this status. Were my opinion asked, I would give it, but I had no desire to force it on anyone. Many times I had been deep in the counsels of my father and grandfather, as some issue of the day seemed more important than anything else in the known universe. It had been very exciting at the time. I found that I could no longer name many of these all-consuming affairs of state.

Instead I spent my time on what I now found to be actually important: walking the walls or tending the horses with Jory, practicing at swords or learning dance steps with Lyra, drinking ale with my new Free Folk friends or studying archery with Trisha and Jarack. I even knelt with my sister Lyra before the odd white tree while she prayed, feeling the tree welcome her presence and detest mine; it had previously seemed, if not welcoming, at least less hostile. I could not recall a time when I had ever felt this free of care, all the while knowing that I would soon have to wager my life to defend all of these people. I would leave the tree to its own devices. 

* * *

We all bathed before Sansa’s investiture ceremony, and I sat on the bed with Jory in our Mormont black-and-green to watch Lyra help Tansy into her gown. Trisha lay behind us and slept; like all veteran soldiers, she took sleep when she could. Unlike most other soldiers I had known, she again smelled of flowers.

“I did not know that you owned a sword,” I told Jory. She handed it to me and I drew it a short distance out of its scabbard; at least it had been well-oiled.

“Me either,” she said with a shy smile. “Don’t hate me.”

“You are my little sister. I could never do that.”

“It’s an expression. It means, don’t judge me too harshly.”

“I would prefer that you never draw this,” I said. “But that is not the way of this world. Would you like me to teach you to use it?”

“I’ve had lessons with our master-at-arms, and with Trisha, but it couldn’t hurt.”

“It is more dangerous to be unskilled with a blade, than to be without one at all.”

“I’d rather be without one,” she said very softly, afraid that anyone else might hear, “but Mother thinks otherwise.”

“That is her decision. In these things, I am merely your sister.”

“You didn’t mind borrowing my ring mail to keep me out of the fight with the Boltons.”

“I did not say that I agreed with her.”

In truth, I would not have minded having another sister-in-arms. While the paired fighting style is effective, three are far stronger than two as it is much easier to protect against flanking moves and more difficult for an enemy to predict the axis of attack. But I did not wish to see my little sister take up the sword when it went against her nature. I liked and trusted Trisha, but she was devoted to the task of protecting Jory. I had promised to teach her the triple technique, but I did not wish to remove Trisha from protecting Jory to form a third with Lyra and me.

Lyra had pulled the gown over Tansy’s head and adjusted it. My sister looked quite beautiful.

“I had thought this clothing odd,” I told Jory, “but I am starting to see the beauty in it.”

“That’s because you’ve never had to wear one.”

“I did once,” I said. “I think I might like to again. You do not?”

“It’s . . .” somehow, I had embarrassed Jory. I became distressed.

“I am sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

Lyra had overheard.

“You can tell her,” she said to Jory. “She needs to know.”

“I don’t own one,” Jory said quietly. “Neither does Lyra.”

I understood.

“There is little money on Bear Island,” I said. “And fine gowns are costly.”

“That’s right,” Jory said. “We grew up with weapons and armor, but not gowns.”

Tansy came over to us, her gown making a rustling sound as she moved.

“And all of these gowns,” she said, “these dozens of gowns, made by King’s Landing’s finest seamstresses or imported from Essos. These are where Bear Island’s taxes went.”

Our sisters fell silent.

“Yes,” Jory finally said. “I don’t blame Sansa, truly I don’t. But we are a poor house. Bear Island is beautiful, but not rich.”

“And we don’t tax our people into starvation,” Lyra added. “We share the burden.”

“The Mormont Way,” I said, now understanding still more.

“Yes. It’s more than just cleaning a few dishes.”

“I am even more proud to be a Mormont,” I told them. “I will work with you to restore our house’s fortunes.”

“And that of all our people,” Lyra added

Tansy gathered her skirts and sat on the other side of Jory.

“I’ve had lovely gowns before,” she said, taking Jory’s hand. “I’d rather be a Mormont.”

“Me, too.”

Tansy lightened the mood by waking Trisha and then making the four of us stand at attention in a row while she checked our hair and our Mormont uniforms. We each wore our sword across our back, all in the same fashion. Then Tansy led the way to the castle’s Great Hall, the rest of us following in single file.

Not all of the people could fit inside, so each house or group had its representatives within the Great Hall while the rest waited in the castle courtyard. Maege and Alysane had taken places with the high lords near the chair in which Sansa would sit. Tansy stood with Myranda Royce and Ser Davos directly behind it. The other lords, including the Vale lords and Tormund Giantsbane, made an arc around the chair. Tormund appeared to have bathed and found clean clothing.

Jory, Lyra and I stood with seven other Mormont soldiers, including Trisha, Jarack, a shorter but broad-shouldered woman named Salna and four other men. All of us dressed alike, though the men wore their swords at their belts. We had been placed as far from the Vale troops as possible, with Glovers, Cerwyns, Reeds and Winterfell men and women between us.

The ceremony consisted of Howland Reed and Yohn Royce droning on about a lord’s responsibilities, and Sansa repeating their words. Each of the Northern lords, including Ser Davos, laid their sword before Sansa who formally handed it back to them. I let my mind wander through the thoughts of those assembled, making sure everyone was as bored as I and that no one plotted mischief. In a true adventure story I suppose someone would have tried to knife Sansa during the ceremony and I would have valiantly stopped them, but no such excitement took place. I monitored the Vale men as best I could, but while many looked for me at the front of the assembly none thought to seek me among the Mormont soldiery.

Afterwards, we all exited into the courtyard, where wooden tables had been set up and filled with food and drink. Fires had been built in metal fixtures called “braziers” between each row of tables, and straw had been spread over the ground to make the mud-and-horseshit mix somewhat less disgusting to step upon. We joined the rest of the Mormont troops at a set of tables as far from the Vale people as could be arranged. I had met most of our companions during the march northward, but had not spoken with them at any length.

It turned out that I was very popular with them; they appreciated my defeat of Lyn Corbray, from which many had profited by placing wagers on the outcome. Many also guessed that I had protected Jory in the fight underground. They admired the Mormont sisters, and greatly approved my adoption. They now wondered whether Sansa would be acclaimed Queen in the North. Mostly, though, they hoped that this ceremony marked the end of their service and thus meant that they could return to their island.

I had not shared such a meal in hundreds of years, since my days as a lowly subaltern in Helium’s navy. A princess could not mix with commoners on such a level. I found that I had missed out on a great deal thanks to my privilege, as I thoroughly enjoyed our fellowship. They respected me as a fellow fighter, not because of my royal status, and had a great deal of pride in me. Only a few imagined me naked. I could feel my self-esteem rising.

Tansy came and joined us as the meal’s end neared and musicians began to play. She cautioned us to remain with all of the Mormont soldiers until the Vale men had returned to their camps. Ser Davos appeared soon afterwards, and thanked the soldiers for helping make the day possible.

I headed back to the large round tower with Ser Davos and my sisters, filled with warm feelings of sisterhood, appreciation and wine. And then these quickly evaporated as I detected thoughts ahead. Lord Glover awaited us at the huge doors leading into the Great Keep, accompanied by six of his Glover soldiers. I would have known him to be extremely angry without the aid of telepathy.

“Ser Davos,” he said in a growl. “That sword of yours.”

“Yes, milord?”

“Where did you come by it?”

Lord Glover’s hand slowly began to draw his own sword. I decided to end this quickly and stepped close to him. I took his wrist in my hand and pushed his blade back into its scabbard, letting him feel my greater strength. I pressed against him and spoke in a harsh whisper.

“Davos Seaworth is my friend. If you wish trouble with him, you will have it with me as well. And you do not wish that.”

Lyra joined me, steadily meeting the eyes of the Glover soldiers one by one. “My sister does not stand alone.” Attracted by the disruption, several Mormont soldiers lined up at our backs. Trisha slowly pulled Jory and, I noted with approval, Tansy behind them and placed herself in front of my sisters.

Lord Glover considered taunting Ser Davos for hiding behind women, realized that this would likely cost him his life and those of his men, and explained instead.

“He carries my brother’s sword.”

“Which I purchased for him in Duskendale,” I said, still whispering. “From a shopkeeper who found it in a stream. If your brother valued his sword, perhaps he should not have cast it aside so casually.”

Galbart Glover feared me, but also realized himself in the wrong. Most other lords of this land would have insisted on their position even more strongly, even knowing themselves likely to die. Lord Glover raised both of his hands and stepped back.

“My apologies to you, Ser Davos, and to you, Princess. I was out of line. I have had no word of my brother for a very long time and leapt to unwarranted conclusions.”

He turned to leave, his soldiers greatly relieved. They had seen my adoptive sister and I fight, and they not only feared us but admired us greatly. They did not wish to oppose any Mormont. This relieved me as well; I had already started one blood feud within the walls of Winterfell. I had not done such things on Barsoom, but here I seemed eager for confrontation.

“That would be Robett Glover, milord?” Ser Davos asked.

“Aye,” said Galbart Glover, turning back towards us.

“You do not know?”

“Know what?”

“He’s with Lord Manderly in White Harbor,” Davos Seaworth said, “in hiding from the Freys and Boltons. He aided me on my return from the South.”

“My brother lives?”

“He did six weeks ago.”

“Ah, that is wondrous news indeed,” Lord Glover said. “He never asked for his sword back?”

“I never draw it if it can’t be helped. It was packed away for my entire time there.”

I had not purchased a fine sword for Ser Davos just for him to leave it packed away, but this did not seem the proper time to scold him in front of others. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris encounters the not-dead beings known as the Others.


	40. Chapter Eleven (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter plans to make war.

Chapter Eleven (John Carter)

I stood outside the wooden temple’s thick walls with my kos Moro, Jhaqo, Pono, Aggo and Rakharo, along with Daenerys and a broad-chested Dothraki of Jhaqo’s khas named Mago. Jhaqo assured me that Mago had the loudest voice among all the Dothraki; by his thoughts he did not approve of an outlander as khal, but accepted the verdict of the dosh khaleen and would follow orders. At Lizhi’s silent signal, I walked in with my princess beside me and my kos following.

“The Stallion Who Mounts the World!” Mago thundered. “John Carter, Khal of khals!”

Daenerys and Lizhi had prepared the way. Now it would be up to me to seize this prize, and take leadership of the Dothraki. I learned long ago that power, true power, isn’t something anyone can give to you. Power is something you take.

I stopped in the center of the temple, where Daenerys had consumed the stallion’s heart. The khals occupied the risers from which the dosh khaleen had watched my princess. The dosh khaleen stood on the risers opposite them. My kos arrayed themselves behind me, with Moro directly behind my right shoulder to name the khals before me.

“My brothers,” I began. “I am John Carter, the Stallion Who Mounts the World. I came out of the desert, naked and alone, to defeat Khal Drogo. I ride and I fight like one born to saddle and arakh.

“It is my destiny, as the dosh khaleen have affirmed.”

“He is John Carter,” the crone who had led the ceremony now spoke. “Khal of khals, and the Stallion Who Mounts the World.”

The assembled khals murmured among themselves, but none spoke. As we had planned, Moro stepped forward next to me to speak.

“My brothers,” he began, “it’s a new day for the Dothraki, the day when we take the place the Horse God meant for us. Hear the words of John Carter, who I have chosen as my khal. I felt the power of the God in him, and I gave him my arakh.”

“My brothers,” I said, stepping forward in turn. “It is as Ko Moro says. A new day for the Dothraki. A day when all of us become brothers, and together we bring to our people the destiny the Horse God has laid out for us.

“The Dothraki have not seen glory since the Century of Blood. Now is the time when we take up our true destiny, when we unite first ourselves and then the entire world. The dosh khaleen have seen this. It is known.”

“It is known,” the crones chanted in unison. Most, but not all, of the assembled khals repeated it.

“Khal John,” the oldest of the khals rose. Moro named him Motho. “I would, with respect, ask a question before I give you my arakh.”

“You may ask,” I said. “But regardless of the answer, I shall have your blade or your life.”

“As you will,” he said. “I ask not for myself, but my bloodriders. What shall become of them, when I am not khal? I will not be dead, yet I will not be khal.”

“They will remain your bloodriders,” I said, “even as ko. I will not dishonor their oaths. But like Ko Moro’s bloodriders, they will swear to me as well, become blood of my blood, as I am now their khal.”

Though I maintained a stern expression, it pleased me that he thought of his followers’ fate first.

“Then I am your ko,” he said, stepping down from the riser to hand me his arakh. “I ride with you.”

“And I am you khal,” I said, taking his blade and then handing it back. “I ride with you.”

One by one, the others marched down to the temple floor and handed me their arakhs; some were reluctant, but none of them showed treacherous thoughts. I had expected that I would need to fight and kill at least several of them, but all were cowed by the solid phalanx of crones at my back.

* * *

With all of the major khals now having at least publicly accepted my rule, in the Dothraki fashion I now had to host them in a great feast. The servants of the dosh khaleen provided a large feasting hall adjacent to the temple and a constant stream of grilled meats, ale, wine and the fermented mare’s milk preferred by some traditionalists.

As at my wedding feast, I sat on a dais surrounded by my closest companions: my kos, my non-Dothraki generals, my advisor Lizhi, and of course my khaleesi. I made sure to honor my new kos and my new bloodriders, inviting them to take turns sitting by me and sharing choice pieces of grilled meat. This also gave me a chance to probe their thoughts by asking seemingly innocuous questions and seeing how they reacted.

The grand adventure I offered excited them and pushed aside their doubts about me personally and their thwarted ambitions. There would be large-scale battle against non-Dothraki foes and opportunities to win glory. Their days of simple cattle-raiding and village extortion were at an end.

I also raised one of Moro’s former kos, a younger man named Qhono, to ko status. His thoughts showed him eager to ride with the Stallion, and Moro assured me that he had outstanding abilities in activities requiring stealth and guile - hunting, scouting and the like. I planned to place him in charge of a small khas, perhaps two thousand riders, but all of them men who had shown both outstanding individual initiative and skill in similar tactics. They would perform long-range reconnaissance, well beyond our usual outriders, and perhaps special missions deep in enemy territory to disrupt his logistics and communications.

Pono arrived late to our feast and when he entered, he held a squirming puppy in his arms. It was very furry, and of an orange-brown color, with the huge paws that foretold a huge body when it reached its full size.

“Orange Cat!” he shouted, before he spotted my Unsullied commander. “My brother, I promised you a dog, a gift from one free man to another. Let it be said that Ko Pono fulfills his promises.”

Orange Cat rose and went to meet Pono, who thrust the dog into his arms. The Unsullied stood awkwardly while the puppy wriggled and licked his hands and face.

“Thank you, Ko Pono,” Orange Cat said. “I have long wished for a dog.”

“What shall be its name?” Pono asked.

“Orange Dog.”

* * *

Though I now led close to a quarter-million fighting men, most of my day seemed taken up by the affairs of women. I had made a promise to free Lizhi and her friends from the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen, and I intended to keep it - not least because I knew that while I might not fully understand Dothraki politics, Lizhi did and it would not serve to betray her trust.

“You command us, John Carter,” the crone who had overseen the testing of Daenerys told me, after I had greeted the assemblage. “Never before has there been a Stallion Who Mounts the World. Tell us how we might serve.”

I saw in her thoughts that Lizhi had prepared her for this moment and planted the question. I would have to find some way to reward Ahesso’s former khaleesi.

“I would have your wisdom,” I said. “Even as I travel. Let those of the dosh khaleen who would dwell outside this temple do so, and return when needed, so that the world outside this temple may benefit from your counsel. I would have several of you travel with me on my campaign to assist me.”

“It shall be as you say,” the old woman, who I thought of as the High Priestess, said in her shaky voice. Some of the others murmured unhappily, but none would challenge the will of the Stallion Who Mounts the World.

I named eight of the 22 women, taking their names and titles from Lizhi’s thoughts. These women, all young enough to ride with the khalasar, would accompany me. It seemed a small price for what I had gained, and based on Lizhi’s example I might actually benefit from their presence. If not, they could always ride with the rest of the baggage.

“The others may continue to reside in this Temple,” I said. “Or elsewhere in Vaes Dothrak as they please. Or even outside Vaes Dothrak, so long as they return to the dosh khaleen when summoned.”

“John Carter,” one of the older women said. “I wish to go with you as well.”

Her thoughts showed her sincere.

“Can you ride, honored one?”

“If I cannot, then you must send me to the Night Lands. Let all here witness this.”

“Very well,” I said. “I shall do so myself, if it becomes necessary. Until that time, I shall value your counsel.”

With that, I left the Temple with my nine new advisors. A group of about thirty eunuch slaves, part of those who had served the Temple, followed. Lizhi already knew how to put the women to use, as we walked back to our compound.

“You’ll be sending your kos far out of your sight,” she said. “Some of them were khals days ago.”

“This is true,” I said.

“Send a khaleen with them,” she said. “No one will dare harm her, and she speaks with the authority of the Horse God. She will see that your orders are followed.”

This was an excellent suggestion. I nodded my acceptance.

“Tell me what you intend next.”

And as we walked, I described my intentions.

* * *

As Khal of khals, I also had the duty to dispense justice. I named the elderly Ko Motho to assist by handling some of the cases, which he took as an honor. He set up curt in the feasting hall, assisted by two of the crones. I heard the other supplicants in the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen, seated on a comfortable raised seat that the eunuchs had erected and flanked by Lizhi, Jhaqo and two of the older khaleen who would not be riding with me. I wished them to feel valued and part of my enterprise, so as to be less likely to speak against me once I had gone.

After resolving a number of disputes, drawing on the crones for insights into Dothraki law and custom, one of the bare-bosomed women I had seen in the Eastern market entered the Temple doors and approached.

“Your name?” I asked, intrigued by this unusual woman.

“Rastifa,” she said, dropping to one knee. “Known as the Beautiful.”

“Rise, please,” I said. “Be seated alongside me, and tell me why you’ve come.”

I found myself immensely attracted to this woman, despite her unusual appearance. She wore a leather skirt and a loose-fitting vest that bared her large, high breasts; each nipple had been pierced to hold a ring. She had red jewels attached to either cheek, and wore a red powder on her face. A thin circlet of silver held her jet-black hair away from her face.

Her appearance tugged at my hidden memories; she was tall, with strong shoulders and the easy movements of a fighting woman - she appeared well-capable of using the sword she had handed my guards when entering my presence. The idea of a warrior woman still seemed absurd, when thinking of someone like Calye in battle. Yet I could well imagine Rastifa fighting with sword and shield, an image that troubled me for reasons I did not then understand.

Lizhi’s thoughts expressed surprise to see a warrior woman of the Hyrkoon approach her khal. Jhaqo wished to rape her. The remainder of my court, including my princess, looked on her with curiosity.

“The Great Fathers extend their greetings,” she said, speaking good Dothraki. “And congratulate you on your accession.”

“I thank you,” I said. “And it is you I should thank, rather than your Great Fathers, is it not?”

Flustered, she blushed, darkening her golden skin. She did so for effect; her thoughts remained calm though she had not expected her deception to be unmasked so quickly.

“So it is,” she said. “We seek the overthrow of the Great Fathers.”

“And who are ‘we’?”

“A large faction of the Hyrkoon warrior caste, present in all three of our cities.”

She spoke the truth this time; she believed her party stronger than that still loyal to these so-called Great Fathers, but most warriors were still undecided. My intervention, she hoped, would decide them in her favor.

“And you hope that I will help you re-make your kingdom.”

“It’s in your interest,” she said. “Women fight for our cities, and our rulers never pick up a sword. They are weak. Should not the strong rule the weak?”

I considered her statement. On the surface, she was correct, yet all of my being said that men, as the stronger sex, should guide and protect women, the weaker. Yet what if women were the stronger? By that same logic, as she had said, should they not rule?

“She speaks truth, John Carter,” one of the crones said. “The Horse God punishes weakness.”

I nodded my thanks.

“I originally come from a land where men protect women,” I said to Rastifa. “So your ways are strange to me, but I can’t disagree with you, either. Suppose that I aid you in this enterprise. What do you offer?”

“Willing alliance,” she said. “The three cities of Hyrkoon shall be the first to place themselves under your rule, John Carter. We’ll fight and die for you. We’ll follow your laws and commands.”

“And in return?”

“Our cities rule themselves, under their own laws and leadership subject to your approval. The Great Fathers will be killed, with your seed to take their place.”

“My seed?”

“Our men are eunuchs. Only the Great Fathers can father children. When they’re dead, someone will have to provide the next generation. That someone will be you.”

I turned to the crones.

“It is seemly,” the other said, “as long as your khaleesi is not neglected.”

“There’s more,” I prompted Rastifa.

“The Jogos Nhai,” she said. “Barbarians of the plains to the east. You have the power to crush them.”

“They assail you,” I said.

“For centuries,” she answered. “Centuries of constant warfare. End those wars, and our swords are yours.”

“How many swords?”

“In defense of our cities, perhaps 20,000. For an expedition far from our homes, perhaps five thousand between all three cities.”

“All female?”

“Yes.”

I pondered this. The very idea of woman warriors struck me as contrary to the natural order, yet the thoughts of my ko showed respect for their martial prowess. I turned to Jhaqo, who had fought them some years in the past and come away impressed.

“Your thoughts, my ko?”

“They’re good fighters,” Jhaqo said. “Female or not. They show their tits when not in battle, but wear rings of steel in action. They prefer spear to blade, and have good archers as well. They’re known as oath-keepers. If we must ride with Lamb Men, there are worse you could choose.”

“Our men will ride with them?”

“Our men will follow the will of the Stallion,” he said. “Yet I would not mix them with another khas, my khal. Our men will seek sex. Their women will . . . object. With weapons.”

I nodded, and looked to the crones.

“It is seemly?” I asked.

“These are strange times,” one of them said. “It is said that all honorable warriors will follow the Stallion. The Hyrkoon are honorable and are warriors.”

“Rastifa the Beautiful,” I said, “I will consider your proposal, but I am inclined to agree. Dine with us tonight.”

She thanked me and left us, departing with a liquid walk that drew my full attention.

“A good ally,” Lizhi said when Rastifa had passed out of earshot. “Far fewer riders than the Dothraki, but any who see them will know that you lead all men, not only Dothraki. But the Jogos Nhai are no minor foe.”

“Tell me of them.”

* * *

Before Rastifa arrived for dinner, I had a few moments alone with my princess, the first such since she had consumed the stallion’s heart and helped win my place as Khal of khals.

“My chieftain,” she said, rather shyly. She had not acted in such a manner since the very first days of our marriage. “In the Temple you said . . . you proved, that you can know the thoughts of others.”

“It’s true,” I said. “I can only see what someone is thinking at that moment, and only one person at a time. I can’t do so over a long distance, nor can I project my thoughts into another’s mind.”

“But you know my thoughts.”

“I do, my love.”

“Who knew of this?”

“Lizhi,” I said. “No one else.”

“You did not think,” she said, growing somewhat heated, “that you should share this with your wife?”

“That was my choice to make,” I said. “Had it not been necessary to secure the approval of the dosh khaleen, I would not have shared it at all.”

“Doreah says,” she went on, “that other women do not tolerate seeing their husbands make love to women not their wives. I have said nothing of this, because I know that you have needs, and I know that it pleases you. I would never ask you to set Calye aside, because I know she would kill herself. And I have enjoyed Doreah as have you.

“Now you talk of a far greater betrayal. You kept a secret from me, a secret that I deserved to know.”

“I disagree,” I said. “And as your husband, that is my choice to make.”

“Doreah says that I need to learn to stand up for myself.”

“And I say that Doreah needs to learn when to keep her mouth shut. I have spoken.”

“And I have spoken,” she said. “I am Daenerys Stormborn, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. You are Khal of khals because of me. You will sit the Iron Throne because of me.”

Never before had I been angry with my princess, but I was in that moment. I worked to calm myself.

“What is it that you wish of me?” I asked instead of reminding her of her place.

“Don’t ever lie to me again. Fuck this Rastifa the Beautiful, or anyone else you fancy. But don’t ever fall in love with them, and don’t ever lie to me.”

“Very well,” I said, shocked by the language she had learnt from Doreah. In that moment, I considered ending their association. Had I done so, and had Daenerys remained the meek young girl I had married, later tragedy would have been avoided. But I was weak, and eager to please my beautiful, loving princess.

I signaled to Irri, who had not understood our conversation, to summon Rastifa to join us. My princess remained aloof through the meal, but did not object when I took Rastifa to the rooftop afterwards.

* * *

While tradition forbade the carrying of weapons inside Vaes Dothrak, it not only allowed but encouraged the making of military plans. I summoned my kos, old and new, to the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen to discuss our next moves. Mormont, Orange Cat, Lodovico and Syrello joined us as well.

I had seen Jogos Nhai in the Eastern market: short men, bow-legged, with shaved heads that had been pressed into a point, probably when they were small children. They appeared Asiatic to me. Rastifa had told me a great deal more as we lay under the stars.

The Jogos Nhai lived to the east of the Bone Mountains, the massive high peaks one could see in the far distance from Vaes Dothrak. They were said to ride animals called “zorses,” which sounded like the zebras I had seen in a previous life. The Dothraki disliked them deeply; the Jogos Nhai women pursued men sexually, which repulsed my adopted people, and they poisoned wells and burned pastures during war, which offended Dothraki morality.

Yet the two peoples had fought only rarely, as the mountains kept them separate and the Hyrkoon fortress-cities effectively blocked the only passes wide enough to allow an army access to the other side. They had little treasure beyond what they looted from the Yi Ti, and their lands were poorer than the Great Grass Sea; their assaults on the Hyrkoon were driven by a desire to migrate into Dothraki territory. They did not form bands as large as Dothraki khalasars except in wartime.

While I would gain little direct benefit from their defeat, they did represent a strategic threat to my new realm. If the Hyrkoon fortresses fell, I would face an invasion soon after into our unprotected rear flank. We needed to secure this direction before riding on to fresh conquests in the south and the west.

All of that gave more than adequate justification for taking Rastifa the Beautiful as my newest lover. I did not share that motive with my generals, instead concentrating on the campaign to come.

“For many generations,” I began, “the Jogos Nhai have defied the Dothraki. They come across the Steel Road to take our herds and our women, they defile the Mother of Mountains by their very presence.”

Murmurs of assent and approval ran through the men, all of them experienced warriors.

“We make war on the zorse-riders?” a ko named Ogo asked. He appeared to be one of the stupider former khals, and I would likely replace him soon.

“Yes,” I said. “Soon, we will ride to subdue the Lamb Men and the Free Cities. Before we can do so, we must assure that the Jogos Nhai are unable to invade our undefended lands.

“Many if not all of you have fought them before. And you recall how these wars end. The cowardly zorse-riders fight briefly and then withdraw, burning the pastures and poisoning the wells. Eventually the khalasars must retreat as well, or die of starvation.”

Ogo nodded. “It is known,” he said. His son, the khalakka Fogo, had warned him that he must appear agreeable to me or I would kill them both.

“You have a plan, Khal John,” Jhaqo said, not framing it as a question.

“I do,” I said. Two of my household guards held up a map that Mormont had drawn the night before.

“You are all familiar with maps?” I asked. My old kos nodded; about half of my new generals showed confusion. “Picture the world as a bird sees it, from high above. We are here, at Vaes Dothrak. Here are the Bone Mountains, the cities of the Hyrkoon, and the Plains of the Jogos Nhai.”

“Is this one of your new methods, my khal?” Ogo asked. “To make the world flat?”

“It’s but a representation, as a painting shows a man or a horse. There is no magic, but it is a very useful tool.”

“I understand,” he said, though he remained confused. “What are your orders?”

“Ko Qhono will form scouting parties of those most skilled in the arts of stealth and guile. These shall venture into the Plains of the Jogos Nhai. They will not burn or raid, but will avoid notice. They will find the position of the zorse-riders’ hordes and report back to me.

“When we have found the enemy, we will advance to attack as quickly as possible, taking only mounted warriors. Ko Jhaqo will ride on our left flank with 50,000 riders, assisted by Ko Zekko. Ko Pono will ride on our right flank, likewise with 50,000 riders, assisted by Ko Jommo. I will command the center myself, assisted by Ko Rakharo, Ko Moro and Ko Oro.”

I paused, and looked out over my generals.

“Does everyone understand this plan so far?” I said. “Speak now if you do not. There is no shame in asking questions, only in suffering defeat because you failed to ask questions.”

All nodded. I continued.

“The Hyrkoon women have asked to place themselves under my rule. We will first ride to their cities and assist them in eliminating the Great Fathers. We will leave all who march on foot with the Hyrkoon - slaves, smiths, herds. Ko Pono will have command of his khas and as many more to defend our women and supplies, assisted by Jorah the Andal and Ko Motho.

“Our objective is to find and destroy the main horde of the Jogos Nhai. When we attack, Ko Jhaqo and Ko Pono will each bring their khas to strike the enemy from the flank. My brothers, we do not ride to defeat the Jogos Nhai. We ride to destroy them forever as a threat to the Dothraki. Are there questions?”

Jommo, a scarred man of middle age, stood uncertainly.

“My khal,” he began. “It is said that your crawlers destroyed Ahesso’s khalasar. What will be their place?”

“They will remain in the Hyrkoon cities, commanded by the Unsullied named Orange Cat. We move with speed in this operation. The armored cavalry will ride with me.”

He nodded and sat. I had been concerned that I would have to kill him for rejecting my leadership, but in openly asking clarification he accepted my command.

“And the fighting women,” the elderly Ko Motho asked, “my khal?”

“I have not seen them in battle,” I said. “I have been told they are formidable. I will take a small khas of them with my force, and observe them first hand. Should they please me, we will make more use of them in future campaigns.”

“Will there be loot?” Ogo asked. “And slaves?”

“Not from the Hyrkoon,” I said. “When we have slain the Great Fathers, they will become as one with us, as will others in the future. There will be no rape, there will be no looting. As all Dothraki are now brothers, so will they be our sisters. Any who rape will lose their arakh-hand.

“When battle is concluded, and not before, you may take what you will from the Jogos Nhai.”

“Khal John,” Motho rose again. “The Jogos Nhai are many. Perhaps many more than we. When we kill all in their horde, they will still be many.”

“What do you suggest, Ko Motho?”

“I do not know, my Khal,” he said, his voice quavering slightly. “But it seems that if the zorse-riders could be tricked into attacking the city of the women, where the crawlers could slaughter them with crossbows, and then attacked again in the manner you have ordered, then we could defeat them twice and slaughter many more of them.”

This was sound strategic thinking. Not every khal had been as stupid as Drogo.

“How,” I prompted, “would you provoke the zorse-riders to attack the Hyrkoon cities? Or our khalasar?”

“Khal John,” Jhaqo rose. “March the crawlers up the Steel Road first. Keep the khalasar well within the mountain pass. Put it about in the markets that the crawlers go to aid the Hyrkoon, while the khalasar rides south to raid the Lamb Men.”

The generals nodded.

“We do ride south, not east,” Pono picked up the idea. “Let them see us ride toward the lands of the Lamb Men. Then turn for the Steel Road. Our outriders must be vigilant to catch and kill any zorse-riders trailing us.”

I nodded, pleased to see that my generals had some sense. Or at least some of them did.

“The Jogos Nhai will flee from our strength,” I said. “Their zorses are much slower than our animals, but they have much greater stamina and can subsist on less feed. We must strike them as hard as we can, before they elude our grasp.

“I approve the suggestions of Kos Motho, Jhaqo and Pono. We will decide what to do next after we have defeated the Jogos Nhai and obtained more information from our scouts after the battle.”

“Khal John,” Motho spoke once more. “Would it be possible to find mounts for your crawlers, so that we might use them on the Plains of the Jogos Nhai? They need not ride into battle, only to the place of battle.”

“We cannot teach them in time for this campaign,” I said. “But that is something we should seek for the future. I would have your counsel in the coming battles, Ko Motho. You shall ride at my side.”

He beamed, pleased at the praise, not yet understanding that I had just relieved him of his command.

Moro stood and approached me.

“John Carter,” he said. “I doubted you. I don’t deny it. But this is a good plan. Drogo would have ridden directly at the zorse-riders, and it would have been as you say. We might fight once or at most twice, they would flee from our blades, and we would do it all over again in a few years.

“My brothers,” he addressed the former khals, “it is a new day for the Dothraki. The Stallion walks among us, and under his banners we will remake the world. I am glad to be alive to see such days.”

* * *

I sat my horse on the height overlooking the entrance to Vaes Dothrak, with Mormont and Daenerys flanking me as our khalasar passed in review below.

“How many warriors now,” I asked, “would you guess?”

“I’d put it at 200,000,” Mormont said. “With camp followers, women, children and slaves, adding perhaps another 500,000.”

“More than we can feed on the march.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “You’ll split them?”

“We have little choice,” I said. “We’ll augment Jhaqo and Pono’s commands to 40,000 apiece, and have them ride far enough out on our flanks so the areas we forage don’t overlap. I’ll take the remainder, with Aggo as the vanguard and Moro covering the rear. We will have to move with some speed, as we’ll consume all the food and fodder wherever we ride.”

“And when do we ride?”

“Orange Cat will start tomorrow with the infantry, over the Steel Road toward the Hyrkoon lands. We’ll remain here for two more days before heading south, as planned, while Qhono’s scouts cross the pass as well.”

“They won’t go undetected.”

“I’m aware,” I said. “They are Dothraki, and if captured they won’t easily tell of our plans even under torture. What they do know will give little idea of what we intend.”

“It’s the rear echelon that worries me,” Mormont said. “Half a million people at the very least, five times as many animals. Can the Hyrkoon support that?”

“Rastifa claims that they can,” I said. “If she’s wrong, we’ll have to detail a khas to protect them and have them retreat into the Grass Sea.”

“If only we could leave them behind.”

“The Dothraki won’t fight unless their families are secure,” I said. “And they only believe them secure when they are close. They’ll fight a brief campaign at a distance, but they won’t go to Westeros without their entire khalasars. They’re not an army, they’re an armed people.”

“My chieftain,” Daenerys said. “What of my crown? We must invade Westeros.”

“And so we shall, my love, to claim our destiny, yours and mine together. With an army of foot soldiers and trained heavy horse, with the Dothraki one element among them.”

“What role,” Mormont asked, “do you see for them?”

“For the Westeros campaign?” I asked. He nodded. “I plan to form Dothraki light cavalry units of volunteers. Young men without families to protect. The older men will remain in Essos, unless they too choose to come. I won’t bring men who pine to return, or fear to leave.”

“In Westeros,” Mormont said, “they no doubt fear that every Dothraki could be put on ships and brought across the Narrow Sea.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. “It means they’ve given no thought to the Dothraki. This” - I gestured with both arms at the horizons - “is their home. You can’t expect to uproot an entire people from their home to march to someone else’s war. We’ll do well to bring fifteen thousand across, in an army of perhaps one hundred thousand. That should be more than sufficient.

“The Dothraki are no threat to Westeros. It’s the armies that march behind the Dothraki cavalry screen that the Westerosi should fear. But that lies in the future. For now, we deal with the Jogos Nhai.”

“After we battle the plainsmen,” Mormont said, “what comes next?”

“We head south, along the road on the other side of the mountains. It connects all three Hyrkoon cities, and we’ll give them the aid they seek to overthrow the Great Fathers. Each fortress blocks the eastern end of one of the passes. We’ll take the southern pass back across the Bone Mountains and ride for Astapor, to take their Unsullied.”

“I’ve fought around Slaver’s Bay,” Mormont said. “They’re studies in contrast, with miserable slaves and rulers rich beyond belief. The plunder would be considerable, should we take their cities, and the manpower immense.”

“Kill the masters, enlist the slaves?”

“Just so,” Mormont said. “And the sellswords as well.”

“Sellswords?”

“The slave cities depend on hired companies. There are always several to be found in their employ. Perhaps four to ten thousand at any one time, in total among the cities.”

The latter suggestion made good sense, but I was less enamored of the idea that we should recruit and train slaves. Though my faith in the Christian God has wavered over my lifetimes, I continue to believe that we live in a universe of order directed by a supreme being. And it is part of that divine order that some men are meant to rule over others, and the variation of men by race is how that creator-god shows us who should lead and who should follow.

Beyond my philosophical misgivings, there were also serious practical considerations. Slaves, by their nature, are degraded beings without honor - had they the wherewithal to defend themselves with arms, simple logic says that they would not be slaves. It takes a free man, with a free heart, to truly understand that freedom is defended on the battlefield. I remained unconvinced that, outside of men trained from childhood like the Unsullied, slaves whose will had been broken in the fields could be turned into soldiers.

We would need not only men to fill our ranks in battle, but to provide security in the cities and lands that we conquered. I could not see a slave properly exerting authority; to give them arms and set them over those who once owned them would be to invite violence and atrocity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John and Daenerys Carter suffer a terrible loss.


	41. Chapter Thirty (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris enjoys tea sweetened with insect vomit.

Chapter Thirty (Dejah Thoris)

On the next morning the Vale men broke their camp and began their march to the southeast toward White Harbor, where Robett Glover had been hidden. There they would board ships for their homeland. Sansa held a luncheon for their leading lords to thank them for their support; Lyra and I remained in our chambers with Tansy and Jory. Jory and I made playing cards from small pieces of thin flat wood, and once the paint on them had dried I taught my sisters John Carter’s favorite game, called “poker.” It took several days before the last of the Vale army departed, and then our exile ended.

Sansa held a luncheon for all of the Mormonts, myself and Tansy included, the day after the last Vale soldier marched out of sight. I wondered if allowing them to leave had been a mistake, with the army of the dead on the march. Despite the blood feud, we would probably have a need for 12,000 armed, experienced and most importantly _living_ men soon.

Lady Jonelle Cerwyn left on the following day, along with the Cerwyn troops and Ser Kyle Condon. I had liked the knight, and hoped he could keep Lady Jonelle from further foolish ideas. I had not forgotten the mysterious maester, and still intended to find and kill him.

With Sansa officially installed as Lady of Winterfell and the Vale troops departed, she directed her servants to prepare the underground crypts to receive her father’s and her sister’s bones. She asked Tansy to accompany her, along with a priest of her faith, known as a “septon,” Jeyne Poole and Howland Reed. Lord Reed seemed particularly disturbed, as though something about the ceremony remained incomplete, but I did not intrude further on his thoughts. Instead I waited in the castle’s solar along with Randa and Lyra.

“It is always a private ritual?” I asked.

“I truly don’t know,” Randa answered. “In the Vale, and I had always supposed everywhere in Westeros, a funeral draws a large crowd. Prayers are said, and any friends or family wishing to speak say a few words about the departed. Then they lower them into the ground. But the North is different in many ways.”

“We burn our dead, on Bear Island,” Lyra said. “And then place the ashes in small containers, and put those in a crypt under Mormont Keep.”

After a short while our friends returned. Sansa silently hugged each of us, and then we made to leave.

“Could you stay, Princess?” she asked me.

“I am Dejah to my friends.”

“Please stay, Dejah.”

She led me to a comfortable chair near the fire, and took another next to it, with a small table between us. A servant soon brought us tea and small cakes flavored with a tart yellow fruit.

“I’m so sorry to have spent so little time with you,” she began. “You did so much for me, and I ignored you in return.”

“I am glad to have helped you,” I said. “I did not intend to start a blood feud, but I could not back away from it once it began.”

“I think I understand,” she said. “A woman can’t back down without appearing helpless.”

I liked Sansa, and so I decided to tell her the truth.

“Lord Reed believes that I have some destiny in the North, to do battle with the Night’s King. I do not know that I believe him, but I feel far more aggressive than is usually true. I am actually a gentle person when I am at home.”

“I’m glad you were here, and aggressive, when Littlefinger appeared.”

“I was pleased to help.”

“Thank you. And the fresh bloodstains in the crypts?”

“Six Ninestar warriors wished to kill me and rape my little sister Jory. So I killed them.”

She shook her head, and smiled at me.

“When I left Winterfell that would have horrified me. Now I’m only relieved that you hid the remains from Lord Royce. And I don’t want to know where.”

“It is not easy to rule,” I said. “And very lonely.”

“Everyone wishes to give me advice,” Sansa said, stirring her tea. “Usually the advice results in some favor for their family or some favorite project. But you have not done so.”

“It is not my place,” I said. “And these are not my lands.”

She smiled again.

“You deflected that well, Princess. Randa thinks you’re much more perceptive than you wish for others to believe. You appear of an age with us, with somewhat more years than I but no older than Tansy. But you are, aren’t you?”

“Considerably.”

“You’re my aunt’s sister. I trust you. What would you have me do?”

“Regarding what?”

“Whatever you consider important.”

“You are not satisfied with your advisors?”

“They all imagine,” she said, “that because I spent years in King’s Landing, I somehow learned to be a political genius from Cersei and Tyrion and Littlefinger. But I didn’t go there to learn politics. I went to become a princess. I learned to be suspicious. I learned to never, ever show how much they hurt you. And I learned how to hate.

“None of that taught me how to rule.”

I pondered this; her thoughts said that she sought political guidance.

“You are my sister’s niece,” I said. “Which makes you mine as well, under your laws?”

“I think so. I hope so.”

“I am actually a princess. I know that many doubt this, but it is true. My husband, however, is not a prince. He will never rule my city; I shall do so in my own right. His title is and will remain ‘consort’ even when I am Queen.”

“We don’t have anything like that in our laws.”

“When you are Queen, you will make the laws, will you not?”

“It’s one thing to make them,” she said. “Another to expect men to follow them. Or women, for that matter.”

“Declare yourself Queen. Marry as you will, someone with no claim of his own. Make your husband your own consort. Do not allow him the title of king, and have him swear oaths setting aside any right to rule before your Northern lords and your tree-god.”

“I keep the Seven.”

“He can swear to them as well.”

She nodded, liking the idea.

“You have someone in mind?” I asked.

“No. And perhaps I never will. But I would like to be able to fall in love, or marry, if the opportunity arose without worrying that he only wanted a crown.”

She paused, pouring us each more tea and pushing the little pot of insect vomit known as “honey” toward me.

“What else would you suggest that I do?”

“You obviously wish to be Queen,” I said. “Once crowned, do not forget that you are the Queen. Continue to surround yourself with good people, and listen to them, but remember that you are the one who must decide, and bear responsibility for that decision. Always remember that what is done in your name, is done by you.”

“You were taught to fill this role.”

“I was.”

“You could take my place, my throne, if you wished it.”

“Possibly,” I allowed. “But I do not wish it.”

She nodded, mostly but not completely believing me.

“What is your wish?”

“I no longer know,” I said. “I do not think John Carter is here, in Westeros, but I would very much like to remain a Mormont sister. I miss my home, but I will not leave Tansy, or Lyra and Jory.”

“I’m not used to meeting princesses who don’t care about power.”

“My city wields vast power; our fleets and armies would overrun all of Westeros very easily. Over 100,000 full-time soldiers, and many times that number who could be called to our banners for war. All of them better fighters than I, armed with terrible weapons unknown in these lands. Once I cared about that power very much. Now I find myself changing.”

“You never were a girl, were you?”

“My parents tried to shield me from the demands of my position, but they could only do so for a brief while. I would not say ‘never,’ but I would have liked more time with friends, with other young women.”

“With sisters.”

“Yes,” I said. “I seem to be experiencing a phase of life I never had.”

She nodded, imagining that I had missed much of my childhood due to the demands of a royal upbringing, not knowing that we of Barsoom are children for a much shorter time than her own branch of humanity.

“It seems,” she said, “that we trade places.”

I sipped my tea, imitating Sansa. She still had not gotten to her point, which I could not discern in her thoughts.

“You wish something of me,” I said.

She started, unused to direct speech.

“Randa said you were blunt,” she said, then caught herself. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend.”

“I am not offended, nor do I wish to give offense. It is the way of my lands.”

“Then I will try to do so as well. Tansy is all the family I have left. She’ll follow wherever you choose to go. I would ask that you remain here, at least as long as you can.”

“Does she know that you ask this?”

“No,” Sansa said. “Will you tell her?”

“She is my sister. I will not lie to her. But she is very fond of you, and I do not believe that she wishes to leave.”

“I know how deeply she became attached to Arya. I don’t wish to cause her fresh distress. I only ask that you two remain for a short while.”

“I suspect that that is her wish, but we have not discussed it.”

We exchanged pleasantries for some time after, but the core of our discussion had finished. Sansa had tried to manipulate me and failed, but I had gained in her esteem: presented with an opportunity to gain favor, I had deflected it. She told herself that I could be trusted, which relieved her greatly. She trusted few people.

I wished that I could share with her the knowledge I had gained through telepathy: she had already surrounded herself with very good people. Randa, Ser Davos and the Lords Reed, Glover and Mormont all wished her well and could be thoroughly trusted. Yet I also saw that I had been wise to keep my abilities secret; in a land without telepathy, I could give whatever faction I chose to support a decisive political edge, thereby becoming part of their game.

I had no wish to play their game of thrones. I would defend my sisters, and others of House Mormont. And I would help avenge the sister I had never met. But beyond protecting those I loved, I would not use my fighting skills or telepathy for something as fleeting and meaningless as political advantage. 

* * *

With the Vale army gone, my sisters and I had freer rein to wander, yet I took seriously Tormund Giantsbane’s warning of the not-dead army’s approach. I awaited their arrival, and that of this Night’s King, with something like anticipation. I feared this monster, but I feared even more deeply for my new family. Jory desperately wanted to ride outside the walls of Winterfell, but I told her she must not and Trisha concurred. She argued, I became upset, and soon she was re-assuring me that she would not leave the castle if it distressed me so.

Near Winterfell lay a town called, in keeping with the creativity shown throughout this land, Winter Town. Some of Howland Reed’s men had been quartered there, and in the early evening hours the swamp warrior Sabas rode up to the gates of Winterfell to report that strange not-dead creatures had attacked a number of people there.

Sabas entered the castle solar where I had been sharing some wine with Sansa Stark, Howland Reed and Maege Mormont – true to her word, Sansa had begun to consult me more often for advice on princess behavior. Sabas had escorted Lyra and I to the hilltop overlooking Ramsay Snow’s army and had struck me then as sober and reliable. His thoughts now displayed a deep terror of what he’d seen.

“They were dead, milord,” he told Howland Reed. “Flesh falling off their bones, skulls showing through strips of waving skin. Horrible creatures. Blows from swords and other weapons could break them up, but not stop them. They burn easily. Touch them with fire and they light up like lamp oil.”

“It is as Tormund said,” I offered. Lord Reed nodded his head.

“I had hoped,” Howland Reed said, “that we might have more warning.”

“What does this mean for Winterfell?” Sansa asked.

“Grave danger,” he answered. “I do not believe that the White Walkers can raise the dead, or control them, all the way from the Wall. If the dead are out there, so are the Others, and possibly the Night’s King as well.

“But everything I have just said is supposition. We know next to nothing about them.”

“Tormund said that dragon glass and Valyrian steel can kill them, either the Walkers or the dead,” Sansa said. “We have daggers and arrow points of dragonglass, as the Night’s Watch asked us to prepare before we ceased to receive word from the Wall.”

“That is good,” Lord Reed said.

“What do you suggest?” Sansa asked, as Davos entered the room and sat next to me. I handed him a metal goblet and he poured himself wine. Sansa had learned a principle long followed in Helium: when matters of state are discussed, no servants are present.

“Protecting Winterfell is paramount,” said the Onion Knight. “And your person as well, milady. We can’t risk the garrison.”

Howland Reed nodded.

“Knights and soldiers are of no use, my lady,” the swamp lord told Sansa. “Anyone not armed with a Valyrian steel blade or dragonglass will simply add their own corpse to the army of the dead.”

“And what about Winter Town?” Sansa asked. “I have a responsibility to protect my people.”

“This could easily be a diversion, my lady,” Lord Reed said. “Keep the troops here to defend Winterfell. Alert your guard and issue the dragonglass weapons. Prepare torches in case the dead attack here as well.”

“I will not leave my people to the Others,” Sansa said. “And certainly not have them join the army of the dead.”

“The princess wields a Valyrian steel blade.” Howland Reed looked at me, and prompted me in his thoughts.

“I will protect the people of Winter Town,” I said. And I repaid his favor. “Howland Reed will accompany me.”

“Thank you. Please make it so.”

The two of us left the solar along with Maege, and headed back to my quarters.

“I would have come with you anyway,” he said. “You know that.”

“Yes. But you surprised me. I thought I was destined to fight the Night’s King.”

“I have seen you fighting the Others, also. The Others would slaughter the Winterfell guards out in the open. Even behind the walls here Sansa’s people are none too secure.”

“We have four more daggers of this special steel in our saddlebags,” I said. “We took them from Queen Cersei. And I have the sword I took from the vile Corbray. I will give a blade to you.”

“And to me as well,” said Maege. “I’m coming with you.”

“I would like that,” I said.

As we turned a corner, we saw Lyra and Alysane headed toward us.

“Where are you rushing off to?” Alysane asked.

“We’re going to kill the Others,” Maege answered. “Join us.”

We reached our quarters, where Tansy was reading a book, one of the few that had survived the burning of Winterfell. I had never seen this side of my sister, but had no time to ponder this. As I rummaged through our belongings looking for our daggers, I told her of Sansa Stark’s appeal.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Of course you are,” I said. “I will not leave you here alone.”

I had left Tansy in Duskendale, and pirates had taken her. I would trust no one else to defend my sister, even if it meant bringing her closer to danger.

I gave the sword to Howland Reed; he held it appreciatively before checking its balance. The top of his head barely reached my shoulder, but he was obviously an experienced swordsman and recalled a bitter fight against a group of knights in white. I handed a dagger to each of the Mormont women and another to Tansy.

“Do you have a plan?” Maege asked.

From my talks with Tormund Giantsbane I knew that the Others usually appeared in very small groups, and I thought we could overwhelm them.

“Yes,” I said. “These blades are of a special steel that will kill the Others.”

“Valyrian steel,” Maege said. The metal reminded her of something lost, but I had no time to pursue that memory.

“We five will remain together in a group to concentrate our force,” I said. “We will locate and destroy any Others that are spotted. Together. Do not split up to fight alone. We do not wish to fend them off. We are going to the Winter Town to kill them.”

I looked at the Mormont sisters.

“Tansy has no instinct for battle. Do not lose track of her.”

They nodded. I continued.

“Do not become drawn into a lengthy fight, any of you. If you have any trouble, call me and let me kill the Others. This is about survival, not honor.”

“You make us sound like the typical knight,” Lyra said. “No offense meant, Lord Reed.”

He had heard her, but pretended to be absorbed in examining his new sword.

“If we’re ready,” he said. “We should ride.”

We quickly headed to the courtyard, where our horses had been saddled, and mounted up to ride to the Winter Town. Jory Mormont held the reins of my mare and her own mount. She looked at me, eager to join us; I nodded to her and she swung easily into her saddle.

“Stay by Trisha’s side,” I told her. “No bravery allowed.”

“No problem,” Jory said. “I have none.”

“Give Trisha your dagger,” I told Tansy. I looked at the red-haired soldier, who held her own horse. “Guard them with your life.”

“I always do.”

Sabas led us to where the Others had been seen. The ride took only a few minutes. We pulled up where he indicated; a cluster of other swamp warriors stood waiting and Howland Reed called out six men by name who took up torches. I told Tansy and Jory to stay very close.

Chaos ruled the small wooden town. I scanned for enemy thoughts and found something unusual. It had a mental taste I had encountered before on Barsoom, in the horrific synthetic hormads created by Ras Thavas: like an intelligent being, but not quite the same. These were likewise artificial creatures.

I led our battle group toward their thoughts, such as they were. I could not read them clearly, only their broad intentions. They had directed a number of their enslaved dead people to attack and kill townspeople, but they themselves remained at the edge of the forest. Tormund had been correct; they were not a valiant people, these Others.

When they remained still they were almost invisible to one’s eyes. They were the color of ice, and while I had heard them described as white this was only sometimes true – they could alter their appearance to allow light to pass through them. But they could not hide their thoughts, nor could they sense our approach until we were very close. When I was very sure that these two were alone, Howland Reed and I attacked while the others watched for their dead servants.

The Other I faced carried a long, narrow blade that looked to be made of ice. He, for it appeared to be male, wore what seemed to be close-fitting leather armor, also shimmering like ice. His fluid movements were difficult to track, and I could sense no usable thoughts to give a hint as to his intentions. He only broadcast a desire to kill me. I knew that this could be a very dangerous opponent.

I saw his right hand with blade extended move toward my breast, and blocked it with a strong upward cut. My sword struck his blade and made a sharp keening sound. I sensed fear; he now knew that I had a weapon that could kill him. He hesitated, and I struck at his wrist, forcing him to drop the icy blade. It began to bubble and turn into heavy mist when it hit the ground. He turned to flee in his odd gliding motion, and I slashed him across his back. He fell to his knees, let out a piercing shriek, and dissolved into a bluish liquid that quickly bubbled away into steam. I leapt backward to avoid breathing it in.

I turned to check on the swamp lord in time to see him bury the point of his new sword in the chest of his opponent. The creature gave a similar shriek and likewise turned into blue goo, followed by foul steam. I found the method of their demise deeply disappointing; I very much wanted to dissect one of these strange creatures.

With the death of their masters, the dead seemed to lose direction and began to stagger about in seemingly random patterns. They had shown no thoughts of their own even before we dispatched their masters. The torch-wielding swamp warriors rushed to set them alight. Most of these walking dead seemed to wear the livery of Stannis’ slaughtered army.

We returned to our friends. Lyra and Trisha flanked Tansy and Jory, while Alysane and Maege stood in front of them, each with a mace in one hand and dagger in the other. They had had no cause to use either.

“That was much too easy,” Maege said.

We all said it together.

“Winterfell.”

* * *

When we rode through Winterfell’s gates again, the castle had fallen into panicked disorder. Men and women ran about shouting, but I could gather little from their thoughts. Tormund Giantsbane stood in the middle of the castle courtyard, rallying his own fighters and the Winterfell guard with his mighty voice, sending them to cover both the gates and walls against immediate attack.

“What happened here?” Lord Reed asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said, his exaggerated accent and gestures gone. “Something has happened to the Red Wolf. I thought it best to see to the walls and let the Onion Knight find the lady.”

“You had the right of it,” Howland Reed told him. “Carry on.” Tormund nodded and we plunged through the milling crowd while Jory, Trisha and Alysane gathered up our horses.

I entered the Great Hall with Howland Reed, Maege, Lyra and Tansy. Confusion reigned here as well. Myranda Royce sat on the edge of the high table with a vacant expression. Her thoughts exuded only shock.

“Randa, where is Sansa?” Tansy asked. The girl stared at her and said nothing. “Randa. We need to know. Where is Sansa?”

“Snow. He took her.”

“Ramsay Snow? I killed him and punted his head. Did he rise without it?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. It wasn’t Ramsay Snow. It was Jon Snow. The Night’s King.”

Tansy sat beside her and put her arm around her shoulders.

“Randa. Tell us everything that happened, from when we left Winterfell.”

“Sansa came here to the Great Hall to hear reports from her guard commander and make sure everyone had the dragonglass weapons.

“Tormund, Davos and Mollen walked the walls. The soldiers doubled up on the gates. Nothing happened. Every now and then a soldier would come in and report that nothing had been seen. We began to relax a little.

“Then the big heavy doors blew inward,” she gestured toward their thick gray wood. “And in came Jon Snow. I recognized him from Sansa’s description. But he wasn’t Jon Snow any more. His skin was gray and he wore white armor. His eyes were bright blue like they say the dead have when they rise.”

“The Night’s King,” Howland Reed said.

“I believe it,” Randa said. “He had power. You could feel his power.”

“What happened to Sansa?”

“She stood from her chair like she had no will of her own. I ran to her but the Night’s King reached out his hand and I fell. Jeyne put herself between them and he simply stared at her. She fell to the floor as though she were dead.

“Jon Snow placed one hand on Sansa’s shoulder and the other on the side of her face, and he kissed her. Very gently, like a lover. Then he placed a hand right over her heart. She began to shudder and a gray color spread over her skin starting from there. 

“She didn’t say a word. She took his arm and they walked right back out the doors. I tried to run after her, to stop her, but it was as if I couldn’t move. No one else could move either. We were frozen in place.” 

Howland Reed sighed heavily. Behind the table, I saw Lyra pull Jeyne to her feet; she still lived but her thoughts revealed only confusion.

“She’s gone,” Lord Reed said. “He’s taken her as his Night’s Queen.”

“She is dead?” 

“Worse, probably.”

I turned back to Myranda Royce.

“Did you see where they went?”

“Ser Davos said the guards at the gates had been frozen just as we were. The guards believed they went north, up the Kingsroad, on foot.”

“He did not kill the guards?”

“No. Nor anyone else.”

“He wants us to pursue him,” the swamp lord mused. He looked at me.

“We pursue,” I said.

“Agreed.”

We walked back out into the courtyard, where Howland Reed began to issue orders to collect fresh horses and load food, furs and dry firewood into a sledge. We would take a very small group: myself, Howland Reed, Maege Mormont and Tansy. Tormund slammed a giant hand onto my shoulder without a word before he stalked off to patrol the walls. Ryk, his son by law, hesitated before following.

“Give me your knife,” he said. I pulled Brienne’s working knife from the sheath strapped to my thigh and handed it over. He gave me an obsidian dagger, which I slid into its place.

“In case the steel doesn’t work.”

“You have another?”

He opened his cloak, revealing a row of at least eight such daggers strapped to his abdomen. “Stay safe,” he said, nodded to me and loped off after Tormund.

Davos and Mollen had their garrison ready to meet the Others, but I would not leave my sister in Winterfell; I trusted my adoptive sisters but Tansy would stay where I could protect her myself. I had felt very comfortable fighting alongside Lyra, but Maege insisted that she would come herself on this dangerous journey.

“I can’t risk all of my daughters,” she said. “You know what you have to do to protect them.”

I knew. I had a very strange sense that the moment for which I had come to this place, to this planet, had arrived.

“Lady Mormont,” Trisha said, somewhat haltingly. “Let me go instead.”

She had red hair. She would sacrifice herself if asked. I could not allow her to be present, tempted as I was to allow Trisha to fulfill Howland Reed’s vision in place of Tansy. I liked her, she was my friend, yet she was not Tansy. I felt deep shame.

“I trust you to protect Jory,” I said, before Maege could answer. “And the future of House Mormont. You will not disappoint me.”

Maege nodded, surprised and somewhat pleased to see me take command of her soldier.

“I won’t,” Trisha said, ashamed to feel relief at being left in Winterfell, ashamed to know that I could feel her relief. I placed my hand on the side of her neck and bent forward.

“There is no shame,” I whispered. “I am terrified as well. But if you come with us, you will die at my hand. I know this, in some way that I cannot explain.”

“So do I,” she whispered in return. “And I’m afraid. But I’ll die for you if I must.”

“This is my destiny, not yours,” I said. “Keep yourself safe even as you protect Jory.”

I kissed her forehead and released her. She still smelled of flowers. Behind us, my three new sisters had formed a line. Jory took my hands in hers.

“I’m glad I have two more sisters,” she said. “Take care of yourselves.”

I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. Alysane firmly placed one hand in the middle of my back, pulled my head down with the other and touched her forehead to mine. She said nothing, but I understood her thoughts: I now carried the responsibility to defend all of the North’s people implicit in the Mormont family’s oaths. She trusted me to fulfill them, a duty she placed above her own life. I nodded my understanding; she returned the gesture and smiled.

Lyra embraced me tightly as I climbed into the sledge.

“Fight like a Mormont,” she said softly into my ear. “And come back.”

“I will,” I whispered into hers. “I will do both. Keep our little sister safe.”

“I love you,” she murmured, and kissed the sensitive spot under my earlobe. As nervous as I was to set out after this strange Night’s King, it thrilled me to hear those words and feel her lips on my flesh.

“And I you.”

The Mormonts watched us climb into the sledge, a sturdy vehicle mounted on rails rather than wheels so that it could glide over the top of the ice and snow, and they waved until the castle’s open gate fell out of sight. Two strong and agreeable Winterfell horses pulled the sledge, with two more trailing behind for when they tired. As much as I wished to have my own horses along, I knew they were not used to the snow and might tire too quickly.

“You’ll see her again,” Tansy said quietly. I nodded, and smiled at my sister. She gave me her hand and I held it.

I rode silently in the sledge, playing with Tansy’s hand and absorbed in my own thoughts. I seemed more troubled that I would now never get to wear my pretty new purple gown and participate in the dining and dancing rituals than I was upset by the living death of Sansa Stark, who had been so kind and so welcoming, or concerned for my sister, who had once again met and lost a loving niece. I had started to feel comfortable with these women; they had become my friends and I wanted to experience with them the things they enjoyed. Part of me knew that those feelings were just the mind’s way of avoiding a harsher reality, by substituting something smaller and easier to grasp. I felt ashamed and very small all the same.

Jon Snow and his captive had headed to the Kingsroad and then turned north. The horses knew the way and pushed ahead enthusiastically; they could not sense the not-dead creatures, though I could. The Others remained well away from the road, but seemed to be watching us. Jon Snow remained a constant distance ahead of us. How he kept pace with the horses and sledge, I could not explain. When I faced him later his feet sank into the snow like a living person’s.

We spoke little as the trees glided past, endlessly the same: long green needles frosted by snow. I thought about Alysane’s charge, to defend not only Tansy, not only my adoptive family, but all those in the North as the Mormonts had sworn. I lay on my back amid the furs, looking upward at the night sky with Tansy’s head on my shoulder as she slept.

I had come to love Maege, Jory and especially Lyra, but had spent much less time with Alysane. Yet now she dominated my thoughts. She took up her responsibilities with the utmost seriousness, and expected the same of me. I had been trained as a princess of Helium, and implicitly understood her meaning. While I would die to defend Tansy, or Lyra, or Jory, she had asked me to do the same for all of the people of the North.

In the sky above, I finally saw it: the red planet. What would happen if I held my sister tightly, raised my hands to the shining red jewel and wished to be there? My sister Thuvia had remained behind on Barsoom; I had not thought of her often, perhaps because it shamed me that I had left her without even a word. Kajas was gone, never to return, but Thuvia still lived. And I had abandoned her. I desperately wished that she could be with me again, but such wishes never come true; they only serve to torture us.

I snuggled more closely alongside Tansy, and went to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, the Daughter of the Red Star meets her destiny.


	42. Chapter Thirty-One (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris faces the Night's King.

Chapter Thirty-One (Dejah Thoris)

For days we tracked Jon Snow and his captive along the King’s Road. The sun did not show itself; the skies remained overcast and very gray. The Others stayed within sight but did not approach; whether they feared our blades or wished us to continue following, I do not know. We drove as fast as the horses would allow, but even with a spare team we had to stop and let them rest. We would build a fire with some of our dry wood and warm ourselves beside it, yet the Others kept away, watching but not attacking or even approaching.

While the horses rested and my friends slept, I kept watch and cut fresh wood to dry in the heat of our fire. I had no trouble sleeping in the bottom of the moving sleigh among the furs, and my telepathic senses would detect the approach of the Others or, at least I believed, of Jon Snow.

I had gathered some pieces of dead trees and commenced slicing off their outer, sodden layers with my sword when Maege roused herself and came to sit beside me in front of the fire I had built.

“I have not detected any of the Others,” I said. “They remain at a distance from us.”

“They don’t like fire,” she said. “But this behavior is unlike any I’ve seen.”

“You have seen them before?”

“Aye,” she said. “North of the Wall. Never close, else I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.”

“You went there to trade?”

“We did. My brother thought it a dishonorable practice, but Mormonts have done so for generations. I’m not the only Bear Island woman to carry a wildling’s child. There’s wildling blood in our line going back far before Lyra.”

“What did you see of these Others?”

“At a distance,” she said. “We fled, and still lost most of our party. One by one, as though they wished to stoke the horror. It worked.

“You saw them fight. Their real weapon is the horror. It grips you, like your heart’s frozen and you can’t move.”

“As happened to Randa.”

“Yes. And the guards. You didn’t feel it?”

“No,” I said. “They were simply strange beings who needed to be killed. So I killed them.”

“Why did you force Trisha to remain behind?”

“I felt . . . a certainty. That I cannot explain. That if she were present, she would die. At my hand. I could not bear for that to happen. She is my friend.”

“She’s a soldier of House Mormont.”

“I am your daughter,” I said. “Yet I retain free will. I will not harm my sister, or my friend. I have spoken.”

No matter how quickly we pursued, Jon Snow and his Night’s Queen remained a short distance ahead. We spotted them on occasion, gliding eerily over the snow, but could pull no closer. Our enemies sought to draw us forward; Howland Reed believed they wanted us to reach the Wall. He offered a few possible reasons, none of which made a great deal of sense to me. I had come here to kill Jon Snow, and if that meant doing so on ground of his choosing, I did not see the difference.

Howland Reed also confirmed many of the tales passed to me by Tormund Giantsbane. The Night’s King was an ancient evil being, now somehow restored to this world in the person of Jon Snow. Whether Jon Snow served the Others, or the Others served Jon Snow, was also unclear. All the swamp lord could tell me for sure was that it had become my destiny to kill the Night’s King, a point he emphasized in each discussion. He had killed my friend Sansa and somehow enslaved her spirit. That was enough to set me to kill him, yet even worse was my mind’s horrifying image of his hand on the breast of Lyra or Tansy, their skin turning gray and eyes bright blue. I would not allow such a thing to happen.

“Why does the story involve a red-haired woman?” I asked Howland Reed during yet another night spent alongside the road. “Is this part of the prophecy as well?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “The wife of Azor Ahai, Nissa Nissa, was said to have red hair.”

“Azor Ahai thrust his sword between her willing breasts,” I said, recalling what Thoros of Myr had told me.

“Yes.”

“This referred to an actual sword, or served as metaphor for his sex organ?”

“His sword became engulfed in flame, allowing him to end the Long Night.”

“And so he received orgasm,” I said. “I have learned that when a story told by your people appears to involve sex, it almost always is actually about sex.”

“Jon Snow must die,” Howland Reed said. “I’ve brought you here to kill him, not to make love to him.”

Howland Reed became uncomfortable, as many people of this land did when sex was mentioned. But his thoughts revealed that discomfort to go beyond the usual prudery.

“This is personal to you,” I said.

“It . . . yes, it is.”

“Who is Jon Snow?”

“A bastard. His mother was a lady named Lyanna, sister to my friend Ned Stark.”

I had heard parts of Lyanna Stark’s story, that she had been seized by the kingdom’s crown prince, thereby starting a rebellion that overthrew the ruling dynasty.

“Who is now,” I read in his thoughts, “your wife, Lady Jyana.”

“Yes.”

“Who knows this?”

“Her brother Ned, my mother and a few House Reed retainers all long dead. No one else. Our children have no idea. My current retainers know she is not of the crannogs, but are unaware of her actual origin.”

I found it difficult to believe that her new name alone had not caused suspicion, so similar to her old name, but gave that thought no voice.

“You have set me on a path,” I said instead, “to kill your stepson.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” If he wished to speak in single syllables, I could match him.

“I saw him. I saw him a white king, bringing mass slaughter in his wake. I told Ned and Lyanna. They believed me, and Ned sent him to the Wall where he could cause no harm.”

“But he did.”

“You may name me a fool if you wish,” Howland Reed said. “I shan’t argue the point. I thought to undo the future. But you can’t. It always comes to pass; you can only alter its form.”

“Why did you not raise the child yourself? With his mother?”

“Ned thought that would cause suspicion, that Lyanna should be said to have died so that no one would seek her.”

That seemed a flimsy reason, having seen the love that Maege bore for her children and Tansy wished to give to hers. Why had Lyanna Stark given up her hatchling so easily? My adoptive mother Maege would never have done so, though I had. Many times.

And then he thought of the true reason.

“Lyanna went willingly with the prince,” I said. “Entranced by his beauty, his charm and his position. But she did not agree willingly to receive orgasm from him. So he raped her.”

“You took that from my mind, without my permission.”

“And saved you the effort of inventing a more palatable and thoroughly false reason, which was your intention. Lyanna was blamed for starting the war. And she wished to hide from Robert Baratheon.”

“She loathed him,” Howland said. “He would have re-claimed her. Ned didn’t want that.”

“There is more.”

“Yes,” he said. “I loved her, then as now, I loved her with my entire being, from the moment she took my part when I was bullied at Harrenhal. She was kind, and beautiful, and betrothed to another, a far more powerful and comely lord.”

“And when Ned Stark agreed to hide her away, you were more than willing to offer your floating castle as refuge.”

“So I was. And eventually she came to return my love, and accept me as her husband.”

“Since she could not leave your floating castle.”

“I am aware,” he said, “that she had limited options.”

“Will she hate me?”

“She agreed that Jon’s death is necessary,” Lord Reed said. “The Night’s King must be stopped.”

He excused himself and returned to his pile of blankets. He had become upset by the conversation, and I chose not to irritate him further. In my mind, I replayed my discussions with Tormund. Howland Reed’s manipulation of me to end his inconvenient stepson’s life left me deeply disappointed in a man I had respected. But Jon Snow remained a threat to my new family, and so he would die.

Jon Snow had been a highly-trained swordsman in life, but Tormund believed him prey to his own emotions in battle. Would that still hold true now that he had died and risen? Tormund insisted that he had been a gentle person prior to his death, obsessed with child-like notions of honor. All of that had disappeared when he became the Night’s King, yet apparently, he had retained the memories of Jon Snow, calling out his victims by name.

On Barsoom I had suffered possession of my body by ancient evil beings; I shuddered at the recollection. Perhaps Jon Snow could be freed from the spirit of the Night’s King, but that was not my intention. I was not travelling rapidly northward to rescue Jon Snow. I had come to kill him. 

* * *

I was sleeping in the bottom of the sledge under a thick pile of furs when my friends spotted the Wall. By the time they woke me it was fully visible; a majestic sight, stretching all across the horizon well over the tops of the trees. The Others had formed a cordon across the road and we had stopped to confront them. Behind them I could see the countless armies of the dead, rank upon rank, shuffling slightly but not moving forward.

I climbed out of the sledge and stretched my arms and legs; the Others and their not-dead minions made no move to advance. The snow came up to about halfway between my ankles and my knees. My friends suffered in the cold, but it bothered me very little – Barsoom experiences great extremes of both heat and cold, and we native peoples are adapted to them. Even so I should have been uncomfortable, but I thought only of the coming battle and a desire for coffee.

I wore my fighting harness and soft leather leggings, with high hob-nailed boots pulled over them. I had a cloak lined with the fur of a bear, but shrugged it off and handed it to Tansy, who gave me my armored gauntlets in exchange. I pulled them on over Brienne’s armored gloves; the cloth portion of the gloves came nearly to my elbows and kept the cold metal of the gauntlets from touching my skin.

The ranks of the not-dead parted to allow two figures to pass through them, and when Jon Snow and Sansa Stark emerged from the line of Others, the odd creatures fell back. The Night’s King looked more like a man than he resembled one of the Others. He had dark hair and a long face, which did look dead to me. He wore close-fitting white armor very much like that of the Others, but seemed to move easily in it. He appeared solid, without the translucent quality of his minions. Or maybe they were his masters; I was not sure. He carried a normal sword – not one of the icy blades wielded by the Others – already drawn in his right hand but he had no shield. 

Next to him stood Sansa Stark, now the Night’s Queen. She also wore the odd white armor, pressed tightly against her skin and cut very low to show most of her breasts; she still looked a great deal like Tansy. She was also obviously dead, with pale gray skin and those bright blue eyes of the Others and their servants. She retained her red hair. Unlike her new mate, she carried one of the tapered icy blades of the not-dead.

They approached us side-by-side, no longer moving atop the snow but sinking into it as we did. Hundreds of Others accompanied them, but held their positions far back of their leader. There were easily enough Others to overwhelm us by sheer numbers, even with our Valyrian steel blades and fighting skills. Yet it appeared that they would watch while their champion fought. Perhaps they had prophecies of their own to fulfill.

I watched the pair of them carefully, but saw none of the lurching movements of the not-dead creatures we had encountered in the Winter Town, nor did they now glide like the Others. They both moved like the living. Except that they were dead. Unlike the thoughts of the Others, I could read those of Jon Snow and Sansa Stark as those of the living. They seemed very angry.

Tansy held one of the special steel daggers we had taken from Cersei; I told her to stay close behind me and watch my back. I would fight both of these creatures at once but I did not trust them not to send Others to flank me. Howland Reed and Maege Mormont remained farther back. Somehow, I knew that I could bring no other companions; I could detect no foreign thoughts as the source of the pieces of knowledge I had somehow acquired over the last few days. By the same method, I know that the fate of this world would be decided in single combat, or something close to it.

The Night’s King stopped a short distance from us. I drew my sword.

“You are far from home, Dejah Thoris,” he said in a low voice; I noted that he only breathed in order to speak. “This is not your fight, Daughter of the Red Star. Leave and take your sister and I will not harm you. I know you have no wish to be here.”

I pulled a thought from his mind.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

He started, then resumed.

“I know you only want to find John Carter. I can reunite you with him. Let my love slide her blade through your heart. It will only hurt a moment, and then you will be one of us. And you will be with John Carter.”

“John Carter is not dead.”

“And you know nothing, Dejah Thoris.”

He believed that I loved John Carter. He knew even less than I.

He moved forward quickly, now using a gliding step that hid his speed. I met his strike and we traded blows before backing up. He was enormously strong, maybe even stronger than I, and very fast. And I realized that he wielded a Valyrian steel blade, just as I did.

When he attacked again, the Night’s Queen moved forward at his side. She was not nearly as fast, and I parried her attack easily. But she needed no skill to skewer me with that icy blade if her mate kept me occupied too long. She seemed to realize this as well and hung back, watching for her opening. We separated again.

“You swore an oath, Jon Snow,” I said. “You swore to protect these lands and their people.”

I twirled my sword and snarled, the way of our women in battle. I should have feared him, yet I found myself almost eager to cross blades with this strange creature. For some weeks I had felt myself growing ever more aggressive, and now it seemed to have found its ultimate outlet.

“That oath ended when I died,” he answered. “The Night’s Watch murdered me. I repaid them in kind and they serve me once again. As you shall when Sansa kills you.”

“Arya died because of you two,” Sansa said, her voice likewise pitched low. She had been very nice to me while she lived. That seemed to have changed with her death. “I’ll kill your whore, my so-called aunt, and make you watch, Dejah Thoris. You killed my mother and never told me, you lying bitch. I’ll kill my mother’s bastard sister as slowly and painfully as I can. And then you will both serve me and my king.”

“So he is your king now?”

“Death brought us together,” she said. “But it will separate you from your lover. Both of your lovers. You will suffer as you made me suffer.”

Had they been this melodramatic in life? I no longer blamed the Night’s Watch for killing Jon Snow. Somehow death had given them information they had not had in life, not all of it accurate. I briefly wondered how this could be, but shrugged instead. This was not the time to consider such.

It seemed important to the Night’s King that Sansa be the one to stab us with the ice-blade; it must carry some important power to transform its victims that his sword of steel, even Valyrian steel, did not. I concentrated on their thoughts, and was ready when they both sprang at me together. I fended them off but the power behind Jon Snow’s blade sent vibrations all the way up to my shoulders. I decided to taunt them.

“Your mother was already dead when I killed her,” I told Sansa. “She had become a monster, much like you.”

I paused, as though the next thought had suddenly come upon me.

“No, that is not correct,” I said. “You are far worse than she. Your stupidity killed your father when he only tried to protect you. Arya, your younger brothers, your friend Beth – they all died because of you.”

Even dead, Sansa reacted with shock. In life, only Cersei had ever spoken to her in such a manner.

“You name Jeyne Poole your friend and treat her as a servant. Her father died because of you. Littlefinger made her a whore, because of you. You are a stupid, selfish girl. And you should not have called me ‘bitch’.”

“I’m not that way now!” Sansa shrieked. “I watched, I learned. I grew!”

“And now you are dead.”

I next turned to her King.

“I thought the Night’s Watch took no wives. Can the dead still fuck?”

He did not expect me to say “fuck.” I pressed an attack while his Queen remained confused. I normally do not taunt my opponents; one should fight when it is time to fight and speak when it is time to speak. But the Night’s King was so powerful, and yet seemed so vulnerable to distraction, that I used the thoughts I gleaned from him to voice his own doubts.

“All this time you wanted her for your own. A woman you thought your own sister! She is not your sister. Ned Stark was not your father.”

He seemed confused. His not-dead sources of information had told him nothing of his origins.

“Your mother was his sister. She did not want her bastard. And so she gave you away, to be equally unwanted in Winterfell. There you pathetically lusted for Sansa, but you were never good enough for her. Not until you were dead. And now you cannot make your tiny, dead organ harden for her. You were not a man while you lived and you are less of one now.”

He screamed in frustration and struck harder but without discipline. I forced him back and kept after him, but Tansy had not kept pace. The Night’s Queen darted into the opening that had appeared between us.

I probably should have overruled my fears and brought Trisha with me on this deadly errand, for Tansy had no skill or experience with a blade while my friend had both and more importantly a killer’s attitude in battle. But the Night’s Queen was no better. She and Tansy struggled to avoid one another’s weapon while I increased the speed of my attack on the Night’s King. The two women did look a great deal alike, except for one of them already being dead.

Fear that my sister could join her niece in death gave me added impetus, and when I knocked Jon Snow’s blade aside, I spun forward inside his guard, drew Longspear Ryk’s obsidian dagger from its sheath on my thigh and rammed it into Jon Snow’s side. His flesh seemed extremely dense, but I pushed the dagger into him until the blade snapped. He fell to the ground, cursing me and roaring in pain.

That wound should have crippled or even killed a living man, but he slowly staggered to his feet. His thoughts showed immense, burning pain radiating from the piece of obsidian lodged in his flesh. He plunged his fingers into the wound and dug out the fragment of the dagger, then cast it to the ground. No blue goo oozed out of the wound; it did not appear to bleed at all. Yet he moved much more slowly than he had before, clearly injured. I could have finished him but had already turned back to Tansy; I knew that she still lived but her thoughts broadcast that she was in grave danger. My sister came first, before every other being on this planet.

She had lost her dagger and the Night’s Queen now taunted her in turn, grasping a handful of her heavy cloak and tracing the ice-sword back and forth over Tansy’s heart. I gathered myself and leapt toward them, but hit a patch of ice and slipped on landing. I slid feet-first between them, slashing at the Night’s Queen’s right leg as I passed.

She dropped the ice-blade and fell to her knees; I had severed the leg just above the ankle and she could not stand. The amputated foot began to smolder while the blade bubbled into blue-gray fumes. I raced over to Sansa, and she looked up.

“I can’t go on like this. End me, before he takes control again.” 

She placed her hands behind her neck and bent her shoulders back to expose her chest. She looked so much like Tansy had in my nightmare in Duskendale, just before the pirates came. I stabbed my sword downward between her willing breasts and pierced her heart. A terrible, inhuman scream erupted from her as the point entered her flesh, and the Night’s King joined in as he raced towards us.

“Nooooo! Sansa! _You’re my quuueeeeeen!_ ”

I pulled my sword free. She did not bleed. First smoke and then flames licked out of the hole the blade left between the Night’s Queen’s breasts, though I suppose it is possible that she was now Sansa Stark again. And then she caught fire. Flames spread all along my sword’s blade, even brighter than they had when I had killed her not-dead mother.

I faced the Night’s King as he charged, assuming a slight crouch and dragging the fingers of my left hand across the top of the snow while I once again snarled. Jon Snow knew nothing of Barsoom and its ways, but recognized the challenge implicit in the gesture. Either his rage caused him to ignore his pain or he had remarkable healing powers; whatever the reason he threw himself at me with even greater strength than before, fueled by anger and despair over losing his love.

Jon Snow had wanted Sansa throughout his years living in the same home, but she had followed her mother’s lead and scorned him as a bastard. Once his supposed father had sent him to the Wall he continued to pine for her, stroking his undersized sex organ while imagining her naked and seeking sexual relief with a red-haired wildling woman who reminded him of Sansa. Even the dead on this planet suffer from unrequited love. Small wonder he was now so angry.

“You killed her, you foreign bitch. I’ll make you suffer as she did. I’ll make the other bitch suffer as she did.”

He balanced his lack of discipline with unnatural strength and speed, which now seemed much greater than mine. Only my extensive experience, and the aid of telepathy, had kept me untouched this long. He might not be able to make me into a not-dead creature with his steel blade, but he could most certainly make me – and my sister – into a dead one. Even seeing his moves ahead of time would not keep me alive forever. I had to distract him further.

“You killed her,” I told him. “I freed her. You saw how she wanted my sword, how she begged for it. She hated you for killing her and longed to escape. She hated you so deeply that she bared her heart to me, but never to you.”

That was entirely a guess built only on his vague feelings of guilt but the shot struck home; he grew even more enraged and redoubled his attack. He fought with powerful emotion, while I fought with none at all. My mind became totally clear, and I thought only of my own moves, of his moves, those he planned in his mind and those I would deploy to counter them.

John Carter speaks of the “song of battle,” and I finally understood. My flaming sword and I formed a single instrument, and I felt great power surge through me while my sword seemed to burn with even greater intensity. Jon Snow poured all of the rage of the Night’s King into his strikes, but I met them and forced him back. It was the finest sword-work I have ever known. I, modestly, do not think that John Carter would have exceeded me on that frozen day.

The dead do not tire, but neither did I. I do not know how long we continued until he gave me a brief opening. Whether it was a mistake or by design, I still am not sure. But his chest was exposed for a fraction of a second, and I rammed my flaming sword’s point into his heart with both hands and a fierce cry.

He dropped his sword. I shoved my blade through his body, and quickly yanked it back out. It continued to flame, as Jon Snow stood and stared at the hole in his chest. He looked up at me with a shocked expression.

“You should not have called me ‘bitch’,” I told him. And then he caught fire.

He burned to nothing almost immediately, and I raced back to where Tansy lay in a heap next to a similar pile of ashes. Her cloak and tunic had been shredded and she had a cut across her chest from her left shoulder to her right breast. It was not deep but it showed frost-bite all along its length. I fell to my knees and pulled her into my lap. She looked up and smiled at me. Her eyes were still the right kind of deep blue.

“I knew my sister would protect me.”

“You will live?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Of course I’ll live, unless my tits freeze off. I just need a new cloak. They’re not so lucky.”

She nodded in the other direction and I looked behind me. The Others had begun to flee, and those closest to us appeared to explode into shards of blue ice. The demise of the Night’s King had somehow doomed them, yet they had done nothing to assist him and preserve themselves. It struck me as very odd, as did all things regarding the Others, but I did not object. As the Others exploded their not-dead minions simply collapsed to the snow, like puppets whose strings had been cut.

Howland Reed and Maege Mormont joined us while I watched.

“My sister says she will live. Is this true?”

I was desperate with worry. The swamp lord knelt by Tansy and peeled back her shredded cloak.

“A wound inflicted by the Others usually needs to actually kill you to, well, kill you. This is a bad cut and she will lose some flesh from the frostbite. She’ll have a scar to remember this day but she will live.”

“I won’t need a scar to remember this.”

They had brought our sledge, and Maege easily lifted Tansy to place her on it. She began to arrange furs around her, and I saw that Maege truly loved Tansy as a daughter.

“She will be fine,” our adoptive mother said. “You have another task to fulfill.”

“I know,” I said, and somehow, I did.

The Wall looked so close, but it was a long walk for Howland Reed and I. I could see nearby Others still exploding, but those who put a little less than half of the measure known as a “mile” between us appeared to be safe. I wondered if I should chase them, but they were faster than I in the snow and the Wall called. I could not explain how, but I knew with certainty that I needed to reach the Wall. I collected Jon Snow’s sword as we passed the blackened ring of snow that was all that now remained of the Night’s King.

My own sword continued to burn brightly. I saw that I could melt a path for us through the snow by holding the flaming sword in front of me and fanning it slightly back and forth. Yet it did not seem to give off an uncomfortable level of heat. At least not to me.

“Does the sword’s heat disturb you?”

“No, I am fine, princess. Don’t worry.”

“You told me,” I said, “that the future cannot be altered.”

“As I said, I saw you kill Jon Snow. I saw the red-haired woman’s sacrifice, though I believed her to be Tansy or perhaps your friend Trisha, but not Sansa.”

“You allowed Tansy to come with us,” I said. “You would have allowed her sacrifice. Allowed me to kill her. Or to kill Trisha. To stain my hands with the blood of my sister or my friend.”

“If needed,” he said. “To save all humanity, yes. As I allowed you to kill my wife’s son. I’m glad it wasn’t necessary.”

“And I would have allowed your entire planet, your entire race, to burn rather than harm either of them.”

I considered slapping him, but my anger calmed as I shamefully realized that while I would never have harmed Tansy, I might have hesitated to spare Trisha. Uncomfortable with my own thoughts, I changed the subject.

“Why all the talk of prophecy? Of the prince fathering him and his destiny to wield this sword or one like it,” I waved my flaming blade, “and save the world?”

“The prince did father him, but that was not the boy’s fault. Jyana, Ned and I all wanted more for Jon than a bastard’s life. As Jyana wished, Ned agreed to raise the boy in Winterfell, as a Stark. He promised her that her son would have the same childhood she had known. He never expected Catelyn to react with such rage and revulsion, making the boy’s life a living hell. Filling him with so much anger, that he became a willing vessel for the Night’s King.”

I did not regret killing Catelyn, or at least killing the even more evil being she had become. Had I known her in life, I now understood that I would have found an excuse to kill her.

“There is more,” I once again told him. He believed that I could extract more from his thoughts than was actually possible; I only saw that he left out part of the story. I did not correct his mis-understanding.

He sighed.

“I’m not proud of my feelings toward the boy. Or Jyana’s. He was a child born of rape. She couldn’t bring herself to love him as a mother, nor could I abide the constant reminder of her pain and dishonor. She made Ned promise to raise him as his own, to allow him a happy childhood.

“And Ned and I thought we might need to proclaim him king someday, if King Robert proved to be a drunken fool on the throne. So we left his parentage mysterious.”

“With no regard for the boy’s happiness,” I said. “Despite the promise to Lyanna. Your wife.”

“With no regard for the boy’s happiness,” Howland Reed repeated, leaving the remainder unsaid.

“You live in a cruel world, Howland Reed. Beautiful, but cruel.”

 _Much like me_ , I added silently.

“The world isn’t cruel. Only its people are.”

“As I understand, King Robert _was_ a drunken fool. Why did you not proclaim your candidate?”

“We should have. Have you never failed to do that which you knew was right?”

I remained silent. We had reached the Wall.

“Will the death of the Night’s King,” I asked, “eliminate the Others?”

“I don’t know,” Howland Reed said. “My greensight says it will drive them back across the Wall, and put them back into their frozen sleep. I don’t know that it ends the threat forever. Somehow I doubt than an ancient evil of such power could be ended simply by killing one being at its head. No storyteller, no matter how drunken or simple-minded, would weave such a tale.”

“So they may return.”

“The Wall’s imbued with magic,” he said; I forced myself to remain silent. “Yet I see a time very soon when the Wall will no longer stand. Some other defense against the Others will be needed. Perhaps the Daughter of the Red Star.”

“That magic,” I said, “did not prevent the dead, the Others, and the Night’s King from marching south of the Wall.”

“No,” he said. “The magic is fading. Perhaps this is its last act.”

The Wall loomed over us; I craned my neck back but could not see the top. I might have underestimated these people. We have nothing on Barsoom to compare with this massive structure.

I still felt no foreign thoughts intruding on my mind, but the next step seemed obvious. I thrust my burning sword into the side of the Wall, as deep as I could, up to its hilt.

The Wall began to pulse in a regular rhythm, showing a reddish-orange light from somewhere deep within. With each pulse the light spread along its length in either direction. As the light spread, so did more Others begin to explode once again.

I withdrew my sword. It no longer burned. The pulses continued.

“Are you sure,” Howland Reed asked, “that you should do that?”

“It is my sword.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, the aftermath.


	43. Chapter Twelve (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter experiences magic.

Chapter Twelve (John Carter)

Orange Cat led the infantry eastwards as planned, while the khalasar headed to the south as our men had boasted in the markets and winesinks. Except for their _ko_ s, they believed this to be true and thus made the lie all the more convincing.

We marched at a relatively slow pace, both to minimize the distance we would have to cover when we turned for the Steel Road and to allow for more large-unit training. I wanted to see my new hordes ride, and begin to teach them the formations that my existing khalasar had already learned. Over those days I also learned a good bit more about my new _ko_ s, and selected several for eventual replacement.

I increased my Companion Cavalry to a strength of six thousand, still led by Rakharo. I planned to expand them further, but wanted to fully assimilate the additional men into the methods I had already taught. None of my new _ko_ s tried to send me unfit or incompetent warriors, which pleased me, and those taken into the Companions seemed to appreciate the honor they had received.

I quickly came to value the advice of the dosh khaleen, who more than once steered me away from mistakes in dealing with the Dothraki and my generals. I also understood, without having to be advised, that I had taken all of my supporters among the crones with me - those who opposed me for various reasons remained in the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen where they could intrigue against me without opposition. It would have been satisfying to burn it to the ground with them inside, but this would have been most unwise. The Dothraki would never accept a leader who had demonstrated such contempt for their traditions and their religion, nor would any people.

Orange Cat had only about three thousand men with him, plus a small troop of Dothraki I had attached to scout for him and three Hyrkoon guides. We would need more infantry. The Dothraki would not serve in a dismounted role; I could force them to do so, but it would only lead to battlefield failure, mass casualties and eventual mutiny. The Hyrkoon cities we rode to support had held out for centuries because their enemies, like us, consisted solely of light cavalry. Eventually we would need to crack the defenses of cities every bit as stout as those of our new female allies, and for that we needed equally stout foot soldiers. We needed more Unsullied.

I had other needs, needs that had not abated. I had eschewed making love to my princess while she carried our son, so as not to harm the baby. I saw her belly swell, seeming to grow with each passing day, and the sight filled me with pride and anticipation.

I seemed to recall having had a son, a feeling that somehow dismayed me. Had I fathered other children? My life before Virginia remained a mystery to me, with only bits and pieces of memory, most of them involving battles and fighting. I knew that I had loved many women, and that some of them had carried my children. But of the children themselves, I could summon no images or details to my mind.

But this son. This son, I decided, would carry my name. John Targaryen Carter, following the tradition of the Virginia gentry. I liked the rhythm of it, the solid sounds of my own name combined with the exotic syllables of my princess’ family name. He would be my khalakka, and the crown prince of the world-spanning realm I was poised to conquer. He would learn at my side: to ride, to fight, and to lead.

I resumed my practice of riding with Calye into the grasslands each morning, and taking her in the Dothraki fashion as she leaned against her horse’s flank. But on our first morning she begged me to let her face me while I held her in my arms, as I had done once before.

“You . . . you have a new lover,” she said in a ragged voice, her pale face blotched with red and wet with tears. “You won’t need me any . . . any more.”

“I don’t need you now,” I said, annoyed by her display. She hoped to manipulate my emotions. To my shame, the tactic had worked in the past. “There are over a quarter-million women in this khalasar alone who would gladly receive my manhood. But you remain of use.”

“Promise me,” she said. “Give me your . . . your word. You’ll keep fucking me no matter . . . no matter what happens.”

“I won’t give a promise I’m sure to break,” I said as I slid into her. “You’re useful to me now. Enjoy the now.”

“Then . . . then kill me. While we’re . . . we’re fucking. Put your blade in my heart while your . . . your cock’s in my cunt. Do it, you coward. Do it or promise me.”

As she was bluffing, I ignored her pleas. Was it not sufficient to make love to her in the fashion she wished? I finished inside her, pulled out and lowered her to her feet. Pitying her, I even kissed her, briefly.

“I will not kill you,” I said. “And I will not promise you. You have a place far above that you left in Pentos. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

I had indeed taken Rastifa the Beautiful as my lover. She had ridden with us along with three of her companions. At her urging I had also made love to two of the other Hyrkoon women, though neither was as lovely as she. I had drawn the line at the third, a squat and muscular woman with thoroughly unattractive features, named Badriyak. Rastifah declared her a powerful warrior.

Rastifah had been a virgin before I penetrated her, yet she insisted that we need not marry. I would impregnate her, and many more of her comrades. I agreed to do so, as I found the task rather pleasant, but insisted that my new lovers would have to ride with us when we left the Hyrkoon cities. I had no time to linger and father a new generation of Hyrkoon.

As a princess of her people, I could not expect Rastifa to be taken in Dothraki fashion like Calye, and made love to her in my tent. She lay obediently still like a proper Virginia woman, and her thoughts showed no objection - apparently the Great Fathers performed their task in similar fashion. The Hyrkoon did not believe that the congress between man and woman should be an act of pleasure. While their society seemed very strange to me, I could at least appreciate this element of decent morality.

Daenerys had silently objected to the attentions I gave Rastifah, but Lizhi explained to her in private that a khal had needs, and displayed his prowess and fitness to lead by taking many attractive lovers. Given her squeamishness regarding rape, Lizhi told her, she should be pleased that I took only willing lovers. Neither my princess nor my advisor considered Doreah an unwilling lover; as my slave, she had no will other than that which I granted her. Rastifah thought me an outstanding lover, while Doreah had a much lower opinion and I began to visit the Hyrkoon woman far more often than I did my lovely bed-slave, which pleased both women.

Calye stopped me as we mounted our horses to return to our camp.

“I . . . I could have a baby, too. Your baby. If you . . . you wanted me to.”

“Drink your moon tea,” I told her. “You have a place, and it is not as the mother of my children. Should you become pregnant, neither you nor your child will have such a place any longer.”

* * *

On the fifth day after our departure from Vaes Dothrak, five days before we would turn to the north-east and increase the pace of our march, Aggo’s rear-guard outriders reported that they had taken a Jogos Nhai prisoner. As I had instructed, they kept him alive until I could question him personally. I rode for the rear of our procession with Mormont, Rakharo, Calye and my khaleen advisors, all of whom wished to see the prisoner.

One of the khaleen, a young woman named Ornela, was not Dothraki, having been taken as a child from the people known as the Lhazareen and later forcibly married to a khal. She was the youngest of the khaleen and a fine rider, well able to keep up the pace that I set. Her thoughts showed a fanatical loyalty to me personally; in her heart she did not follow the Dothraki religion and credited me with freeing her from what she viewed as a terrible hell. She fantasized of making love with me, but feared the reaction of the other crones.

Ornela knew more of the plains than the other khaleen, having only recently been inducted into their order, and she rode alongside me and told me about her people. I appreciated her direct speech, almost like that of a man, giving me the important information and her assessment of it without needless emotional tangents.

As Lizhi had foreseen, I as yet had no generals I truly trusted to carry out my will when out of my direct command. It would have been more convenient to detach a large khas to subdue the Lhazareen and bring them under my rule. Perhaps Ornela and two or three other khaleen, advising a ko of limited imagination, could affect my purpose.

On the other hand, it would not be wise to divide my force on the eve of battle with the Jogos Nhai. I did not have a full appreciation of their strength, and it would be better to bring too many warriors to battle than too few, as long as Mormont could manage to feed them and their mounts. I had determined to concentrate our force, at least until the campaign against the Jogas Nhai was complete.

We found Aggo and several of his riders with their prisoner, a young man they’d tied to a lance shoved into the earth. He stood as I approached, but barely reached the shoulders of any of the Dothraki. He wore baggy, grayish-green garments that likely blended well with the steppe grass of the Dothraki Sea. Like those of his people I had seen at a distance his head had been warped into a point, and shaved. He was young, and showed no expression though his thoughts were laced with fright.

He spoke Dothraki, though he pretended to have no understanding of it. From what he had overheard he knew my identity, and knew that his captors expected reward from me. He hoped to annoy me with silence so that he would be killed quickly before he could be tortured.

“Your name?” I asked after I greeted Aggo and thanked his scouts. The Jogos Nhai returned a blank stare.

“You speak this tongue,” I said. “You may answer in it, or lose yours.”

He continued to stare at me.

“Cayle,” I said in her Bastard Valyrian tongue. “Cut away his trousers, and threaten his manhood with your blade. Don’t cut him just yet.”

He did not understand that language, but understood the threat when she took hold of his manhood and laid her blade across it. She smiled at him.

“She’s not a very good fighter,” I said in Dothraki. “She’s not very good with her blade at all. She could slip at any time. Do you plan to continue pretending?”

“I am Temujin Ude,” he said. “Of the Arulad clan.”

“Your name is not Temujin,” I said. “You steal the name of a far greater warrior than yourself. I’ll use it for you, as I find it mocking. What were you doing when my riders found you, Temujin Ude?”

“Hunting.”

He had been sent to follow us, along with three other riders.

“There are three more,” I told Aggo. “Each riding separately. Find them all.”

Aggo left us to issue fresh orders; Calye continued to play with the prisoner’s genitals, which stoked his terror. The Dothraki approved of her actions, so I did not stop her, and they laughed as the prisoner responded to her touch.

“You rode out of Vaes Dothrak,” I said. “You were never there to trade, only to gather information.”

“I am a hunter.”

“Our alliance with the Hyrkoon frightens you, Temujin Ude.”

“I am a hunter.”

We continued in that vein for some time, as I asked questions and he refused to answer verbally, but thought of the information I sought. When I had wrung all from him that seemed likely, I allowed Calye to kill him. She had killed men before, yet still she hesitated.

“War means fighting,” I told her, “and fighting means killing. If you can’t kill a man, he’ll kill you.”

“It is known,” Ornela agreed. None of the Dothraki men understood, and she translated to their nods. Mormont scowled with disapproval, but said nothing. Calye slowly trailed her fingertips down the prisoner’s chest as she smiled at him, and then killed him with a quick dagger thrust.

We had been fortunate. The Jogos Nhai had no other scouts beyond the four, now three, trailing us. Once we eliminated them, we should be able to make our turn to the north-east undetected. Eventually the head of the mission in Vaes Dothrak would understand that his men had been eliminated, as it would stretch coincidence for all four experienced scouts to simply disappear, but by then I hoped to have reached the mountain pass and it would not matter.

“John Carter,” Ornela said as we mounted up to return to my headquarters. “I would learn to fight with a blade, alongside your sex partner.”

“You are well guarded.”

“That is true,” she said. “And in no danger among the Dothraki. That man knew what I was, and he wished me dead.”

She spoke the truth, so I nodded.

“I would see no harm come to you, honored one,” I said. “It will be as you say.”

I would have Belwas train the young khaleen, as he did Calye and the handmaids. Any others of the dosh khaleen who wished to train could do so as well. Soon, I would have a son of my own. I would teach him myself, so that he might join his father as this world’s greatest swordsman. It struck me as odd that I so easily credited myself, having experienced the skills of so few of this world, yet it seemed a natural thought.

* * *

As we rode up to my tent, I detected the alarm in many people’s thoughts, all centered on my princess. I urged Demon into a full gallop and pulled ahead of my companions. I leapt from his back outside my tent. Doreah came out to meet me.

“What happened?”

“The child came early,” my slave said. “All of the healers were still with the slaves and women, miles away. Jhiqui brought a medicine woman from a Lhazareen caravan to attend the princess.”

“Answer my damned question.”

“The child was stillborn. It . . . it was a monster. It wouldn’t have survived.”

I backhanded Doreah, though not hard enough to kill her, and rushed into the tent. A rather fat woman of middle age knelt alongside my princess, who had been propped against a pile of silk-covered pillows left over from Drogo’s decadent travelling boudoir.

“Who is this?” I asked Irri.

“Mirri Maz Duur,” my Dothraki slave said. “A healer of the Lhazareen.”

Ornela had entered the tent directly behind me.

“That is no healer,” she said, alarm in her voice. “She’s a witch, a practitioner of dark magic. She cannot be trusted, John Carter. Kill her now.”

“She will live?” I demanded of the woman. “If she does not, then you will die slowly.”

“She will live,” the woman said.

“Can she bear another child?”

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the west,” she cackled. “When the seas go dry . . .”

I silenced her with my hand across her face, much harder than I had with Doreah, before she could say more. Doreah came into the tent behind us.

“You weren’t here,” she said in an accusing tone. “We had no other choice.”

I nodded. I would not apologize to a slave, but neither did I strike her again.

“Bring Rakharo and Calye,” I said. “And find a Dothraki healer.”

I knelt by my khaleesi, who was barely conscious. I stroked her sweaty forehead. Ornela joined me.

“I am here now, my princess” I told her. “All would be well.”

“Our son is dead,” Daenerys said.

“But you are alive.”

Doreah returned with those I’d summoned, along with Jhiqui and a Dothraki medicine woman; the Dothraki girl had gone looking for a healer well before my arrival.

“Rakharo,” I said, indicating the Lhazareen witch, “remove this woman. Don’t harm her, but tie her and keep her under guard. Calye. Stay with the witch. If she does anything you find dangerous, kill her.”

I knew the Dothraki to hold deep superstitions. They would fear the witch’s supposed powers of magic; Calye believed in no gods.

The Dothraki woman Jhiqui had brought began to examine my wife with Ornela’s help; I remained by her head with Irri and Jhiqui.

“The Stallion will never live!” Mirri shouted as Rakharo dragged her to her feet. “No cities will burn, no lands will be trampled. I’ve brought an end to this prophecy, before it even left the womb.”

“Gag her,” Ornela ordered. “Do not let the witch speak, or she will weave more of her magic. Tie her hands, for the same purpose.”

Rakharo nodded and quickly stuffed a dirty rag in the woman’s mouth as the khaleen had instructed, while Calye bound her hands in front of her.

“Get her out of here,” I said.

“Summon the khaleen Lizhi,” Ornela told Jhiqui. “Bade her to be sure that a khaleen watches over the witch at all times, to assure that she does no more magic.”

Ornela and I remained by the side of my princess until she finally slept; Lizhi and Doreah relieved us and stayed with her through the night. Doreah’s tender feelings toward Daenerys surprised me.

I slumped in front of a watch-fire; Lizhi folded her legs beneath her to sit beside me. Ornela sat alongside her.

“I know that you do not believe in magic, John Carter,” Ornela said. “But you must take what I say very seriously. That witch remains a grave danger to you, and to us all. When you burn the body of your still-born son, you must burn the witch with him so that he is freed from her curse and can walk the Night Lands freely.”

I muttered something, I don’t recall what, and kicked dried grass into the fire. The flare of light gave the women’s faces an uncanny glow.

“It does not matter what you believe,” she continued. “The Dothraki believe their Horse God to be real. They must see that you care for your son’s soul, for his life after death.”

“The witch must be alive when she burns?”

“Yes,” Ornela said. “That does not mean that she must be unharmed before she dies.”

“Allow one of your new _ko_ s to arrange this,” Lizhi said. “It will help bind him to you, and keep you from thoughts and deeds that will harm your soul.”

* * *

In the morning I summoned Ko Ogo and his son, Fogo. They came promptly, fearing to meet my wrath.

“Ko Ogo,” I greeted him. The three of us stood alone, out of earshot of my household. “I am told that you are a hard man.”

“I have been, my khal.”

“I have a task for one who does not flinch.”

“I do not flinch, my khal. It involves the loss of your khalakka? I am filled with grief and anger.”

He did feel outrage over the witchcraft involved, but less grief over the death of my son than he claimed. Should I fall in battle, perhaps his own son would follow me as Khal of khals.

“You are familiar with impalement?”

“I have ordered it done,” he said. “I did so for my father, when I was khalakka. You wish the impalement of the slaves who failed you?”

The Dothraki generally reserved impalement as the final punishment for slaves who had raised a hand against their masters. Done with skill, the subject could live for days in excruciating pain.

“No,” I said. “They thought they did right by the khaleesi and do not merit death. I have punished them for their mistakes. I mean to punish the one who did evil by design.”

“The witch.”

“Exactly. I want her impaled, alongside the pyre for my son. I want it done with great care, so that she feels the pain but does not die. She must remain alive for the fire to consume her. The khaleen wish it so, and it is my wish as well.”

“We will be careful,” Ogo said. “To be clear. It is your wish that she burn in the pyre, while impaled?”

“It is.”

“My son and I will see that it is so.”

Fogo hesitated to leave when his father made to depart.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“My khal,” he said, nervous to speak directly to me. “The caravan of the Lamb Men . . . those who sheltered the witch.”

“Ride them down,” I said. “Kill them all.”

As they left, I motioned for Doreah to join me.

“I should not have struck you in my anger,” I said. “You did what you could, and may claim a reward within reason.”

“Freedom, a horse and a sack of gold.”

“Within reason,” I repeated. “Even were I to do so, you would be killed within a day.”

“I don’t want to fuck your sweaty minions ever again.”

“Granted. You will only service myself and my princess. Anything else?”

“You read each night,” she said. I nodded. “I would do so as well.”

“Granted,” I repeated. I saw no harm in feeding her mind. It was a foolish gesture on my part, but at the time I was overcome by grief and did not see all of the implications.

* * *

I halted the khalasar’s march while Daenerys recovered; we could not stay in place long before the horses and herds denuded the grasslands of fodder but she could not yet ride and I would not humiliate her in front of the Dothraki by placing her in a cart. She had stylized herself the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea following my own ascension, and I knew from her thoughts that this title meant a great deal to her, as she had earned it rather than receiving it as a gift of inheritance or marriage.

Lizhi oversaw the Dothraki healing women who tended to my princess, and reported that she should be able to mount her beloved silver mare again within a few days. I spent more time with Daenerys than I had at any time before, and felt her rage at the fates, the gods and Mirri Maz Duur. I had not told her of my orders to Fogo, but I now saw that she would have approved.

My princess was no longer the delicate innocent who I had married. She still spoke Dothraki haltingly, and remained ignorant of many of their ways. But she bore the blood of generations of kings and queens. In killing my son, the Lhazareen witch had birthed something far more powerful and terrible, a queen fit to rule by my side.

Lizhi did not believe that Daenerys would be able to bear further children.

“It is always a guess, John Carter,” she said. “But she suffered many injuries to her women’s parts. It surprises me that she lives at all, but she has an extraordinary will, as you well know.”

“Is there any way to know?”

“The Free Cities have men they call physicians, far more skilled than our healers. But even their knowledge is far less than they believe.”

“Your advice?”

“Allow her to fully heal,” she said. “Continue to visit your slave and your ally. And when the khaleesi is ready, come to her bed again and let the Horse God determine what will be.”

Rastifa the Beautiful and her three companions came to offer Daenerys their condolence on the next day. None had ever carried a child, and they had no female wisdom to offer. But I saw in their thoughts that all were genuinely saddened by Daenerys’ tragedy.

“Should I bear you a son,” Rastifa asked me afterwards, “will you wish to keep him, in place of the one you’ve lost?”

“That was not our agreement,” I said. “I will keep my word.”

“I know that,” she said. “That’s why I want to bear your son. But if your wife cannot bear you another, I will gladly give mine up for you, if that’s your wish.”

“Our son will remain with you,” I said. “You’ll teach him your ways, and teach him to wield a sword, and speak well to him of his father. If he wishes to join me when he reaches manhood, allow him to do so. That’s all I ask.”

The attitude of the Hyrkoon women toward child-bearing struck me as both odd and yet familiar. The women of Virginia had been fiercely attached to their own offspring and would never have made such an offer. I appreciated Rastifa’s kindness, but it troubled me that she could suggest it at all. A woman should be devoted to her child, and cling to it no matter the cost.

* * *

The Dothraki burned their dead, when able, and when possible did so three days after their death. Mormont had the pyre ready, scavenging wood from several wagons he had broken up for the purpose. Lodovico gave Ogo a heavy lance made of polished ash wood, and on the morning of my son’s funeral Ogo and several of his men brought Mirri Maz Duur from the tent where she had been under guard and pinned her to the ground. They had raped her before exiting the tent; I did not particularly care what they had done so long as she still lived. They stripped away the remainder of her clothing and then slowly, carefully tapped the ashen lance into her rectum. When several feet had been inserted, they tied a thick knot of rope around the lance to keep her from sinking down the shaft and then raised it to rest upright in a hole dug amid the pyre for that purpose.

She attempted to scream, but the gag that remained in her mouth rendered her silent. Her thoughts radiated sheer pain and terror, which pleased me. Several of the khaleen chanted prayers to the horse-god while Daenerys and Doreah gently lay the shrouded corpse of my son atop the pyre. Irri and Jhiqui trailed them, carrying the three dragon’s eggs that Illyrio had gifted to my princess on our wedding day. Daenerys placed them reverently around the tiny body.

When they had finished, Daenerys came to stand alongside me, assisted by Doreah; my princess could not yet walk unaided. Jhaqo, Pono, Aggo and Rakharo stood at the four corners of the pyre, each bearing a torch, and at a nod from the eldest crone they applied their flame to the waiting wood.

The wood caught fire, and as the fire began to lick Mirri Maz Duur’s exposed feet she frantically slung her head back and forth, finally expelling the gag so she could scream.

“Do not look away,” Lizhi whispered to both Daenerys and I. “The khalakka must claim her magic, so he may enter the Night Lands.”

“I will not look away,” Daenerys said softly. “She murdered my son. I am claiming her magic as well.”

As the flames raged ever higher and the screams ended, Daenerys dropped my hand and slowly walked toward the pyre. Her thoughts showed a deep-seated belief that she must enter the flames, and would emerge unharmed. For some reason I shared her certitude, as did the thoughts of the khaleen standing in an arc behind me.

“Khaleesi!” Mormont shouted. “No! Step back from the flames!”

He strode after her and I grabbed his arm.

“She follows her destiny,” I said. “Do not interfere.”

I don’t know why I said those things, but they felt right in the moment, and the thoughts of the khaleen showed approval.

“What the bloody hells is wrong with you, man? She’s going to burn to death right in front of you, you soulless bastard. You never loved her. You never deserved her.”

With my great strength, I held him back easily, and motioned for two of my Companions to approach.

“Jorah the Andal is overcome by grief for the khalakka,” I said. “Hold him firmly so that he does not injure himself.”

The Dothraki took their cues from the khaleen, who showed no objection to Daenerys’ apparent self-immolation. None tried to stop their khaleesi’s hesitant, limping walk.

“You are sure of this, John Carter?” Pono edged over to ask me very softly.

“No,” I said, equally softly. “But she is. I would not lose my wife days after the loss of my son. See how she still stands in the flames. Something is happening.”

We could make out the dark outline of Daenerys, which stood for a time before bending to pick something up. Her thoughts showed no distress, only wonderment that she still lived. She was not sure what she had retrieved from the burning pieces of wagon.

Lizhi left the khaleen to stand next to me, opposite Pono.

“She lives,” she said. “You feel her thoughts.”

“She does. I do.”

“She has claimed the witch-woman’s magic for her own. She is a woman of great power.”

“This is another prophecy?”

“No,” Lizhi said. “We’ve moved well beyond the story as foretold. We now see a new story written. By you and your khaleesi.”

Mormont continued to howl, held firmly by the Dothraki, while Daenerys’ thoughts showed her unharmed and filled with wonder. She several times had to dodge falling pieces of burning lumber as the pyre collapsed, but did not suffer from the heat. I had no better explanation for what unfolded before me than Lizhi’s invocation of magic.

As the flames died down and Daenerys became visible again, I could see that she was blackened by soot, and that her clothes and hair had burned away, but she was otherwise unharmed. I could not understand how, even were she proof against heat and flame, she had managed to breathe in the midst of a fire given the lack of oxygen and the searing heat that would have been pulled into her lungs. Yet she not only lived, she did so relatively unharmed.

And she was not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode: Fire and Blood.


	44. Interlude One (Thuvia of Ptarth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the Royal Palace of Helium . . .

Interlude One (Thuvia of Ptarth)

I should not have left my sister alone in her sleeping chamber. I knew her to be as impulsive and, at times, as foolish as she was beautiful and intelligent. And yet when she claimed that she did not need my comfort, tired as I was I accepted her statement at face value and did not object. I knew her skill in masking her thoughts to be unparalleled, yet still I saw nothing untoward in her request.

When the noble Kantos Kan contacted me late in the night, I immediately knew that something had happened to my beloved sister before I heard his voice from the communicator.

Once again, Dejah Thoris was missing.

I rose and quickly dressed; my husband Carter Thoris, the son of Dejah Thoris and John Carter, had long since ceased to share my bed. He preferred the wine-soaked cellars of Lesser Helium, drinking himself into a stupor amid the kingdom’s wretched dregs. More than once, the secret police who followed his every step had intervened to save him from the vengeful blade of an angry gambler or procurer of prostitutes.

I found myself unable to care. If he died there, I would not mourn his passing, no more than would his mother.

Kantos Kan soon arrived at my door and escorted me to the audience chamber of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. The Jeddak was seated behind his desk, with his son Mors Kajak and the wife of Mors Kajak, Princess Heru, standing at either shoulder. Princess Tara, the mother of Mors Kajak, sat nearby, her thoughts showing that she did not wish me interrogated and disapproved of this setting.

<<Kantos Kan,>> Mors Kajak began. <<The palace security system shows that my daughter, Princess Dejah Thoris, disappeared from its security grid at precisely the beginning of the First Hour.>>

<<Yes, my Jed,>> Kantos Kan said. <<It detected no intruders. The princess simply no longer registered in the system, from one moment to the next.>>

<<Princess Thuvia,>> the Jeddak addressed Kantos Kan rather than me, <<was the last person in the presence of Dejah Thoris. Is this correct?>>

<<Yes, my Jeddak.>>

<<Very well. Continue to search the palace grounds. Give the air-defense system records additional study, to see if any signature of an airship might appear. And determine whether Dejah Thoris herself may have altered the security system.>>

<<Yes, my Jeddak.>>

<<You may go.>>

Kantos Kan saluted, his fist over his heart, turned and departed. My existence had not as yet been acknowledged, yet I did not fear the Jeddak or the royal family. I had been a prisoner of the evil Therns and subjected to physical, mental and sexual tortures. And I was myself a princess of royal blood by virtue of my hatching. I would not shame my family and show myself as anything less than the equal of Tardos Mors.

<<Princess Thuvia,>> he now acknowledge my presence. <<My grand-daughter and heir, your sister of the heart, is nowhere to be found. Yet here you are. How do you account for such?>>

He implied that were Dejah Thoris dead as he strongly suspected, I should lie dead by her side. Had I shared his belief in her death I would have also preferred to die with her.

<<If she left voluntarily,>> I said instead, <<she did not consult with me beforehand.>>

<<You claim,>> the Jeddak said, <<that the Princess of Helium took such action without even discussing this with her sister of the heart? That would be extraordinary.>>

One does not deploy telepathy during a royal audience, and Tardos Mors had extraordinary skill in purely verbal communication. He meant to question the very status of Dejah Thoris and myself as sisters of the heart, as I had been made a slave. One so degraded normally would be killed outright rather than returned to her previous royal position. Dejah Thoris had shielded me with her own body and proclaimed that any who attempted to harm me must kill her first.

I would gladly give my own life for Dejah Thoris.

<<I make no such claim,>> I answered Tardos Mors. <<Is there proof that she left Helium at all?>>

<<You heard the report of Kantos Kan,>> he said, <<All that is known to us is also known to you.>>

I loved my sister. Yet I now suspected that she had done exactly what her grandfather considered unthinkable. She had left Helium, telling no one, in order to find John Carter and redeem herself in her grandfather’s judgement.

<<Did you not shame my sister for the disappearance of John Carter,>> I asked, <<and insist that she find him?>>

<<You forget yourself, Thuvia of Ptarth.>>

<<And you, Tardos Mors, forget that I am a princess hatched of a royal egg, the daughter of a ruling Jeddak.>>

<<It is as the girl says,>> Princess Heru interjected. <<My Jeddak, I allowed you to shame my daughter. You will not do the same to the sister she chose, who we all know to love Dejah Thoris more than her own life.>>

<<Dejah Thoris allowed her husband to break his oath of fealty to this throne,>> Tardos Mors answered. <<She allowed her son to became a wastrel and an embarrassment to this family, and then she fled from her responsibilities as Princess of Helium and as successor to the heir to its throne.

<<We will await her return for one year. She will return with John Carter, with proof of his death, or with evidence that his return is not in the interest of Helium. Should she fail to do so, she will be stripped of titles and expelled from Helium and its dependencies, and my heir and his princess will hatch a new and hopefully more appropriate successor. Her son Carter Thoris and daughter Tara Carter will be removed from the line of succession. Their royal status will be revoked and they shall be assigned to the slave pool.

<<And I will remind you, Princess Heru, that your love for your daughter is meaningless in the context of the ruling family’s interests. Dejah Thoris had responsibilities. She has fled from them.>>

<<You do not know that,>> I interrupted, risking the Jeddak’s wrath. <<She could be searching for John Carter even now, on his home planet of Jasoom.>>

<<None of our people have ever replicated his means of interplanetary teleportation,>> Tardos Mors said. <<Only the Jasoomian Ulysses Paxton has done so, though many have attempted the same feat.>>

<<Mors Kajak,>> I appealed to the father of Dejah Thoris, <<will you remain silent in the face of such an unjust ruling?>>

Mors Kajak was considered the foremost authority on the laws of Helium. But my words found no purchase with him.

<<The authority of the Jeddak over the royal family is absolute,>> he said. <<My father Tardos Mors would be within his rights to order Dejah Thoris executed, and none of us could speak against him.>>

<<You, Thuvia of Ptarth,>> Tardos Mors continued, <<have three days to decide your own fate. You may choose to search for your sister of the heart and assist her in returning to Helium and her family under the conditions I have named. Or you may return to Ptarth and do there whatever you will, assuming that your family will accept you. In either event, your marriage is to be dissolved immediately and you will no longer hold royal status in this court. I have spoken.>>

Tardos Mors had shielded his thoughts, as is typical for a royal audience of any sort, but I suspected that he had only decided to punish me after I questioned his judgement.

<<I stand with my sister,>> I said. <<Unlike the rest of you, who claim to love Dejah Thoris, I will lay down my life for her as she was willing to do for me. I also have spoken.>>

I turned and strode from the audience chamber of Tardos Mors without saluting or requesting his leave. Both of these were grave breaches of etiquette, but I knew that he would not kill me lest my father Thuvan Dihn, Jeddak of Ptarth, break our alliance with Helium. Tardos Mors could do no worse than he had already decreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dejah Thoris and John Carter have both faced the strange magic of their new world. Their greatest challenge is still to come: each other.


	45. Chapter Thirty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris encounters a raven.

Chapter Thirty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

I had fulfilled a destiny I never wanted and had never fully understood. The Night’s King, apparently once a morose young man named Jon Snow, had died once again and turned to ash. So had his Night’s Queen, who had once been my friend Sansa Stark.

Why did the Others, those strange creatures who seemed to be neither living nor dead, stand back and allow me to fight their Night’s King alone? Once he died, they perished as well. Did all of them explode into crystalline shards when I plunged my flaming sword into the gigantic, continent-spanning wall of ice, or only those nearby?

I studied the blade of my sword; I could find no signs of it having been wreathed in flames only a short time before. Nor had either of the not-dead people I had “killed” left any bodily fluids on it. It looked as though it had been freshly cleaned. I sheathed it and stood with my friend Howland Reed to wait for my sister Tansy and our friend Maege Mormont, who soon joined us with the sledge that had brought us to the Wall from the castle known as Winterfell.

My sister had been injured by the Night’s Queen’s deadly ice-blade. She had fallen asleep among the furs in the bottom of the sledge; Howland Reed pronounced this a good sign for her recovery. We climbed aboard and Maege drove the sledge along the bottom of the Wall toward Castle Black, the headquarters of the Night’s Watch that had once manned this huge, frozen fortification. I lay next to Tansy and looked up at the Wall as it glided past.

We stopped for the night so that the horses could finally rest, and built a fire on a somewhat dry patch of ground. I stretched and lay on a canvas sheet spread by the fire while Tansy dozed in the sledge; the fight with the Night’s King had taken a great deal out of me and my entire body now felt sore. Maege rubbed my shoulders while I lay there, which helped relax my aching muscles – every time I had struck or parried against that fell creature, an enormous shock had travelled up my arms. Howland Reed cooked some broth using pieces of dried meat, and I eagerly slurped it down.

I felt very strange, as though my body had not truly been mine during the previous day. I knew that I had fought the Night’s King on my own, using my own skills and own choices, yet I could not shake the impression that I had merely been a _panthan_ piece in someone else’s game of _jetan_. I did not like this feeling.

When the sun rose, Lord Reed took over driving the sledge. Around the middle of the morning he drove through shattered wooden gates into what he said was Castle Black. It had no walls, and looked more like a ruin to me. There had been a great deal of fighting here, and I immediately saw that many dead lay strewn about the castle; most of them appeared to have been killed in battle and to have remained where they fell. A few showed signs of having been re-animated, as the snow around them did not bear the stains of their blood.

I could detect no thoughts, either those of living intelligent beings or the odd artificial patterns of the ice-like not-dead creatures known as the Others.

I lifted my sleeping sister into my arms and carried her into a large wooden tower that seemed intact. A few dead bodies lay within and I stepped over them. Maege walked ahead of me, and led me to a large, comfortable room with a bed covered in many furs. No corpses occupied this place.

“I visited here once,” she explained. “This was my brother’s chamber when he commanded the Night’s Watch.”

I lay Tansy on the bed; she stirred but did not waken.

“Can you build a fire here?” I asked Maege. “The dead disturb me. I would like to drag them out of this tower.”

“Of course.”

I built a large fire of my own in the central courtyard using pieces of the broken gates and other refuse. A huge store of firewood stood stacked against the wooden tower, covered by canvas sheets, and I added wood from that source as well. As I worked, Maege joined me and said that Howland Reed was treating Tansy’s wound. She believed he wished to regain my favor; I did not yet wish to grant it.

Instead I felt a compulsion to work, to expend physical energy and thereby cleanse myself of the feeling that I had been, if not directly dominated by another will, at least manipulated into carrying out another’s agenda. The hard work of building the fire at least reassured me that my body obeyed my wishes, and retained its enhanced strength.

When the fire had become very large and hot, Maege helped collect the dead and I threw them into the flames. None of them objected. The work lasted all day and well into the night, but eventually all of the corpses in the yard and the buildings had been incinerated.

“We will not be here long,” Maege said, standing by me as I watched the last of the bodies burn. “You could have left them.”

“We do not know what happened to the Others, the Wall or the not-dead people and creatures,” I said. “I would rather that these dead people not rise again and attack us. And I did not mind the physical work.”

“You care not for their dignity?”

“There are no gods,” I said, “and there is no afterlife. We live, we die, we become carrion.”

“You’re not the usual sort of princess.”

“Once, I was. This place has changed me.”

Howland Reed came out of the wooden castle and surveyed our work.

“All of them?” he asked.

“All that we could find,” I answered. “Four hundred thirty-one men, sixty-three women, two children, one of each gender. Some loose body parts of uncertain ownership as well. Also one enormous white wolf.”

“Thank you,” he said. “They all needed their final rest.”

“I was more concerned that they not rise.”

“That too. Your sister is awake and asking for you.”

“How is she?”

“Quite well,” he said. “She has had a physical shock but is a very strong-willed woman. I cut away a little frozen flesh; she needed only a few stitches. She should be fine with a little rest.”

I walked into the wooden castle and up the narrow wooden stairs to the commander’s quarters. There had been heavy fighting inside the building as well; fresh raw wounds scored the walls where axes and swords had cut into the smoothly-worn wood.

The commander had enjoyed a comfortable, if not luxurious, chamber. The walls had thick tapestries on them, showing ancient battles of the Night’s Watch while keeping the cold from seeping through into the room. Maege had kindled a merry fire in the large stone fireplace, and opened one of the windows to bring in fresh air. My sister sat up in bed, a smile on her face.

“You live,” I said.

“I believe so.”

“How do you feel?”

She lifted the lightweight tunic she wore. Howland Reed had apparently changed her out of her traveling clothes.

“The finest tits in Westeros are no more,” she said, pretending to be rueful. “Not with this scar across them.”

Her breasts still looked healthy and beautiful to me; I very much wished to touch them. A bandage had been stuck to her skin above her left breast, where I assumed Howland Reed had applied stitches, but the red mark leading downward across her right breast did not look very deep.

“Howland Reed made it sound far worse than what I see,” I said. “The right one may heal without a mark.”

“I’m only joking,” she said. “I’ve given up showing these off anyway. You’re probably the only one who’ll ever see them now.”

“I am glad that you can make jokes.”

“That’s how you’re supposed to recover from unspeakable horror, isn’t it?”

I sat on the edge of the bed.

“It was horrible,” I agreed. “And I killed your last niece.”

“Moments before she would have killed me. We survived. You saved us. You saved us all. That’s why you were sent here.”

She seemed unsettled. Her words unsettled me as well.

“It is over,” I said. “Why do you worry?”

“If you’ve fulfilled your destiny, that means you’ll go back home, right?”

“I do not know. I do know that I will not be separated from my sister.”

“Good.”

“If I must leave,” I said, “will you come to Barsoom with me?”

“And give up the only planet I’ve ever known? By all the gods, of course I will.”

“Good. May I join you?”

“That’s why I asked for you.”

I pulled off my boots, shrugged off my harness and leggings, and lay down next to my sister. She placed her head on my shoulder. For the first time in a long while, I felt at peace. I had found love, and I had found purpose, the things I had felt missing when I left my planet. That I had found them where I did not expect did not make them any less satisfying. 

* * *

The next morning, I awoke to find Tansy sprawled across me and still asleep, as was her habit. I carefully sat up, trying not to wake her, but as often happened I failed. Her eyes opened and she used my shoulder to pull herself upright.

“Should you be doing that?”

“Probably not,” Tansy admitted. “But I can’t abide lying down all day, either.”

I helped her arrange the furs so she could rest in a sitting position.

“What will you do now?” she asked.

“I had thought to resume my search for John Carter, but I believe that I have altered my intentions. My people are not immortal, but we live a very long time on my world, compared to you here on yours. That means that we live our life in stages, much like separate lives. John Carter has not loved me for a long time, nor I him, and it is time for me to build a new life. There are many vacant homes and even castles in this land. I will find one and live there with my sister, writing my scientific papers, riding my horses and basking in her company. And when her time in this world is done, I will decide what to do next.”

“That’s . . . profound, I guess? I was only trying to ask if you’d find me some breakfast.”

Just then, a huge black bird landed at the open window, hopped inside and regarded us with one eye.

“Hello,” Tansy said.

It flew to the bed and perched on the wooden cube that topped one of the bedposts. It looked at me, again turning its head to use just one eye, and very clearly said, “Corn!”

“I think it wants corn,” Tansy translated, helpfully.

“Corn!” the bird repeated.

I reached out to its mind to find, surprisingly, that the bird was fairly intelligent, on about the same level as a horse and able to detect my telepathic contact. It indicated that corn could be found in the commander’s desk. I walked across the room and started opening the drawers; they had become stuck through disuse and I slammed the heel of my palm into the top drawer to loosen it. With my enhanced strength I sent the heavy desk skidding an arm’s length across the floor, but the drawer opened. Inside I found papers, an obsidian dagger and a small rough cloth bag with dried kernels of the grain called corn. I slipped the dagger into the vacant sheath I usually wore on my thigh, to replace that I had broken off in Jon Snow’s body.

Taking hold of the desk, I intended to move it back into its former position. On the bare floor revealed beneath it I noticed a trap door sunk into the polished wood. I looked at Tansy’s new friend; the bird indicated that I would find a key in the desk drawer where I had located his corn.

The key easily unlocked the door. It covered a small chamber, too small for a person, which hid several wooden chests. As I expected, these were filled with golden coins. This must have been the treasury of the Night’s Watch. And now it was my treasury. I locked the small door and moved the desk back into place.

“What’s that?” Tansy asked.

“Gold,” I said. “A great deal of it.”

“You recall what Jory said about Bear Island.”

Our little sister had never owned a gown; her island was too poor for even its ruling family to afford this world’s few luxuries.

“Perhaps,” Tansy said, “the gods have rewarded you.”

There are no gods, but the coincidence did unsettle me, briefly. Yet it was no more than coincidence; slaying the Night’s King and finding the gold were separate incidents. I brought the bag of corn back to the bed, sat, and poured some of the grain into Tansy’s outstretched hand. The bird stretched out its foot and walked over to perch on my knee while it took the grains very gently, one at a time, out of Tansy’s hand and swallowed them. It was larger than most of the birds I had seen on this planet, though not as massive as the huge birds of prey I sometimes spied in the distance.

“You’re a hungry bird,” Tansy asked, “aren’t you?”

“Corn!”

“And where did you come from?”

“Here!”

“It can understand me?”

“I believe so,” I said. “It is fairly intelligent, though less so than a human.”

“Bitch!”

“Watch your beak,” Tansy scolded. “Or I won’t give you any more corn.”

“Friend!”

“That’s better. Whose bird are you?”

“Snow!”

“Ah. You know he’s not coming back, right?”

“Dead! Dead! Dead!”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Tansy said, very sincerely.

“Friend!”

“Can we keep him? Her?” she looked at me.

“I do not think the choice is up to us,” I said. “It will stay with us or not, as it wishes.”

“Stay.”

The bird fluttered over to an oddly-shaped wooden stand that I now realized had been made for it. It tucked its head under one wing.

I leaned forward and kissed my sister on her forehead.

“Rest now. Tell your new friend if you need anything and he can come and find me.”

I stood and pulled on my harness and boots. As I walked out of the chamber, I paused at the door. I looked at the bird; I knew that it only feigned sleep.

“You will serve my sister, and we shall give you corn. Do not shit on the floor.”

It said nothing, but assented silently.

I took the Night’s King’s sword from where I had placed it on the wall-mounted rack apparently built to hold it, placed it in the scabbard lying on the mantle over the fireplace, and went to find Maege Mormont. I detected her thoughts and headed for the massive kitchens where I found her already baking fresh biscuits and frying bacon. She helped me prepare a tray to take to Tansy, and then I perched on a large, heavy counter apparently used for chopping meat while we waited for the biscuits to finish baking.

“I wished to speak with you,” I said.

“You can always speak with me. You’re my daughter now. Is it a weighty issue?”

“I do not know. I do not believe so. I took this blade from the Night’s King. It is a fine Valyrian steel sword. I would gift it to my sister Lyra on our return to Winterfell, but wished to know if that were proper before doing so.”

I held the sword out to Maege, who took it, pulled it out of its scabbard and looked down the blade with what I would term a wistful expression. Her thoughts became clouded with a great deal of emotion.

“I know this sword well,” she said. “It was my father’s.”

“Truly?” I had not expected this. “How can this be?”

“It’s the ancestral sword of my house. Our house. It passed from my father to my brother, Jeor.”

“Who was Lord Commander here.”

“That’s him,” Maege said. “When he came to the Wall he left the sword on Bear Island for his son, Jorah. Ned Stark exiled Jorah for slaving, and Jorah left the sword behind. I brought it here to my brother. That’s also how I knew which chamber belonged to him.”

“The Old Bear.”

“So they called him in the Watch. He said he couldn’t bear to look at the sword, it reminded him of Jorah’s dishonor. So he didn’t carry it as far as I know but kept it in his chambers. Jon Snow saved his life, I don’t know the details, and Jeor gifted him the sword.”

She held it up again, this time to study the pommel.

“This is fine workmanship, but you can see where someone removed the bear’s head it once had and replaced it with a wolf.”

She handed it back to me.

“Its name is Longclaw. It’s been our house’s sword for five hundred years. It’s what we call a bastard sword – it’s not as large as a great sword, but it has a two-handed grip.”

“Like my sword.”

“Yes. Yours is also now a bastard sword because of the grip. You added that?”

“Yes,” I said in turn. “A blacksmith I befriended named Gendry removed the awful Lannister decorations and extended the grip.”

“Longclaw fits your hands well.”

She was right; it seemed very natural in my hands. But I already had a sword.

“I have been very fortunate in battle with the sword that I have.”

“Bad luck to change blades?”

“Yes.”

“And here you are,” Maege smiled, “saying that you don’t believe in any gods.”

“I do believe in luck.”

“Is Lady Luck not a goddess in your world? She should be. She’s a fickle bitch, just like us.”

“Then I should not anger her.”

“You are my daughter,” Maege said. “Just as if I’d birthed you. So it would please me if you wielded Longclaw in the name of House Mormont.”

She paused.

“You’re also Azor Ahai,” she said. “Deny it all you will; I saw it with my own eyes. So you can’t very well put Lightbringer aside.”

She paused for a moment, then spoke very solemnly.

“It would be a great honor to me if you bestowed Longclaw on your sister, my daughter, Lyra. She is the warrior of the house now that Dacey is gone. Excepting you of course.”

“I am not truly a warrior,” I said. “Only out of necessity.”

“I understand. You’ll fight for our house when needed?”

“Of course,” I said. “If the cause is just.”

Even as I mouthed the trite formula, as common on this world as on mine, I knew it for a lie. I would do anything Maege Mormont asked me to do.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she said, fully aware of my feelings. “Give Lyra the sword. We’ll have a ceremony and feast. She’ll cry, I’ll cry. You should probably cry too. It will be beautiful.”

“I would like that.”

“You like Lyra as well.”

“Yes,” I said, “she is my adoptive sister.”

“You’d like her to be more than that.”

Embarrassed, I had no answer.

“A mother doesn’t need to read minds to know.”

“I would,” I said, “but she prefers men.”

“That bothers you?”

“I have come to love her as my sister. People of my world do not crave sex to the same extent that you do. I am disappointed but I can love her without a physical element.”

“By that you mean sex.”

“Yes,” I said. “Your language does not come easily to me.”

“Sometimes conveniently, I’ve noticed. She loves you too, in the same way. I’m glad we could expand the family.”

“I am happy that you did.”

“There’s more,” she said.

For one who could not read thoughts, she was perceptive. The mother-daughter relationship here is not like that of Barsoom; Princess Heru would not have guessed.

“I would speak bluntly,” I said.

“Moreso than usual?”

“Yes. I do not wish to offend, but I am a Mormont now and that brings obligations, does it not?”

“I have asked you for nothing, beyond the death of Walder Frey.”

“Yet I am your daughter.”

“Who is older than I,” she smiled. “Go on.”

“The family – our family – lacks money. I have read the worry in the minds of my adoptive sisters. Bear Island does not produce a great deal of money, and suffered more than most lands by sending both men and women to war.”

“That is true,” Maege said, “but it’s my burden to bear.”

“Along with your daughters.”

“I don’t want to take charity.”

“From your daughter, it is not charity. It is family obligation. How much is needed?”

She was reluctant to answer, but finally did so, knowing that once she thought about it, I would know anyway.

“For all the repairs to the Keep, buildings and docks, perhaps 20,000 dragons, according to my heir. We can’t replace the men and women lost, but we also need to lay in food before Winter to replace the harvests and catches those lost will never bring in. Perhaps another 5,000 there, assuming we can find someone willing to sell.”

She thought for a moment.

“Prices are much higher for Bear Island, given the distance and isolation.”

“I have not counted it,” I said, “but I believe that I found at least that much in the treasury of the Night’s Watch.”

“It’s not ours to take.”

“Of course it is,” I said. “The Night’s Watch is no more. If we do not take it, someone less worthy than us will. I fulfilled the mission of the Night’s Watch and killed the Night’s King. Would they not wish me to have their money?”

“That’s a fine rationalization.”

“It is our way. When you defeat an enemy, his goods become yours. I killed the Night’s King. His treasury is mine. And I choose to give it to my adoptive mother.”

She sighed and looked at the floor.

“I don’t like it,” she said, “but I think that’s false pride talking. I’ll accept the money, and we’ll repair Bear Island. But only if you deliver it to the island yourself.”

“I will do so, even though it means travelling by ship.” 

* * *

Three days after our arrival at Castle Black, I returned to our chambers with a platter of bacon, biscuits and dried fruit to find my sister sitting on the edge of our bed and pulling on her boots.

“You are feeling better,” I said, looking closely at Tansy. I had not yet grown used to her skin tone, so different from my own, but had determined that the slight reddish flush indicated increased blood flow and better health.

“I am,” she said. “I want to explore this place; it’s said to have one of the oldest libraries in Westeros.”

I carefully set the platter on the room’s wooden table and we sat across from one another to eat our food. I had brought more dried corn, and put it in a small bowl that evidently was used to feed the bird. It was nowhere to be seen.

“I did not know you to have an interest in learning,” I said.

“You’ve changed me. The other children complained about lessons, but I enjoyed them. The stars. Animals and plants. The properties of different materials. I wished I’d been born a boy so I could go to the Citadel and study. Later I wished I’d been born a boy just so I wouldn’t have to be a whore, before I knew about male whores. I even thought about becoming enormously fat so no man would want me.”

“It is never too late to be the person you always wanted to be.”

“Just so.”

“Howland Reed believes the Wall is melting,” I said. “It may destroy the castle. Probably not all of it, but many areas will flood or collapse eventually.”

“Then we need to make sure the library is saved. Will you help me?”

“Of course I will,” I said. “You are my sister, and I will always help you. But it is a noble task regardless.”

We finished First Meal, armed ourselves with torches and set out into the depths of the castle.

The Night’s Watch had laid in massive stores of food and firewood, and we passed vault after vault filled with boxes and barrels. Another large room held weapons: swords, shields, spears, armor. I picked up an odd circular blade hanging from an iron hook on the stone wall and examined it closely.

“I think,” Tansy offered, “you’re supposed to throw it.”

“Its edge extends completely around the outer circumference,” I noted. “To grasp it hard enough to throw it, or to slash someone with it, would cause it to cut deeply into the palm of your hand.”

“Maybe you need an armored glove?”

“Perhaps. It seems a useless weapon.”

“But you look like a true warrior princess holding it,” Tansy smiled. “Sometimes that’s what counts.”

“I do not think so.”

I replaced the stupid device on its hook and we continued our search.

Deep under one of the buildings we finally found it: a warren of chambers and passages carved deeply into the rock. Shelves cut into the walls, and additional wooden shelving within the chambers, held bound books and small leather buckets filled with scrolls. The door to the chambers had been burned and some of the racks near the door showed fire damage, but almost all of the books were intact.

“Let’s make sure this is all of it,” Tansy said. We checked for hidden passages or rooms, and tapped the floor as well. We found a hidden set of stairs leading downward into a small chamber also filled with shelves of books; they looked no older than those on the upper floor but Tansy assured me these were quite ancient.

“The books themselves aren’t more than a century old,” she explained. “Two at most. But they’re copies of originals going back thousands of years.”

She showed me one of the books. I could not read their letters, but I could see that they had been drawn by hand.

“Your people do not have . . .” I struggled for the word. “A means of making letters mechanically?”

“No,” she said. “They’re copied over by hand, usually by holy men. The Night’s Watch probably used older men who couldn’t fight any longer. At least that’s my guess. You can’t maintain a library just by filling some shelves with books and letting them rot for hundreds of years. They need to be re-copied.”

“So knowledge is easily lost, even within a library.”

“Yes. Harrenhal had a huge library, but some of the books could not be read any longer. They’d fall into tiny fragments when you opened them. And even if you maintain the library, sometimes the copies aren’t exactly true to the original.”

I noticed that the floor of the lower chamber was already damp, and water had started to seep out of the lower part of its stone walls.

“This chamber will flood soon,” I said. “We will want to move these books.”

“Then let’s get at it.”

We spent the rest of the day emptying the lower chamber and placing the books in stacks on the floor of the upper room. These would be the first we’d them move into their new, safe location assuming we could find one that appeared solid and likely to survive flooding. 

* * *

With Tansy feeling much better, I took her to the top of the Wall to see the incredible view. We trudged up a seemingly endless, broad staircase cut into the ice and covered with a wooden floor. The wood had a thin coating of ice, but we had found coverings for the soles of Tansy’s boots that Howland Reed called “crampons” with small metal spikes on the bottom that dug through the ice and into the wood. They had obviously been made for men of the Night’s Watch, but fortunately my sister and I have large feet and they fit her easily. I already had hobnails driven into the soles of my own footwear, which had the same ice-gripping effect.

It took quite a while to march to the top, but I found the vista laid before us well worth the effort. The sight made me sway and I held onto a wooden railing someone had built inside the parapet. This planet is larger than Barsoom and though I had tried to get used to the much wider horizons, they still bothered me.

“Are we in danger up here?” Tansy asked.

“Do not fall off.”

“No, I mean, from the Wall melting underneath us.”

I thought of how best to explain in their language.

“A piece of ice this gigantic,” I gestured in either direction, “is big enough to create its own weather. It will remain frozen, or at least much of it will, for a very long time.”

“Years?”

“Possibly. My own planet’s . . . air is generated by machines, so I have had to learn a great deal about such things. Much depends on the thickness of the air,” I knew not how to describe atmospheric pressure, “which I cannot measure here. But I think we are quite safe as long as a slab of ice does not fall on us.”

“What about the library?”

“We should continue to move it, at least the books we removed from the lower chamber. We can put the books and scrolls in one of the towers where they should be safe until we can retrieve them.”

We walked to the opposite side of the Wall, where we could look down on Castle Black.

“That stone tower near the gate?” Tansy asked. “It looks like it’s on a little rise in the ground.”

“I think so. It is much better preserved than the other towers and taller as well.”

“You said we’d retrieve the books?”

“Yes,” I said. “When we have selected our home, we can come and get them.”

“That’s a lot of wagon loads of books.”

“I believe that I can convince horses to pull wagons without needing to be driven. That will allow us to form a train of several wagons at once.”

“You’re up for that much work?”

“You are my sister,” I repeated, “and you want this to happen. And I am sworn to preserve knowledge. This planet is very strange. Many things happen here that do not obey the laws of nature as my people know them, laws we believe to be universal. I would like to know why. Perhaps these ancient books can yield a clue.”

Tansy walked back to the far side of the Wall and looked out again over the forests. I followed her. The trees still had snow clinging to their leaves. They stretched endlessly onward; a few rocky outcrops were visible among them. I could not see the oceans I had been told lay at either end of the Wall.

“We may be,” she said, “the very first women to take in this view.”

“Surely there have been others,” I said. “This structure is said to be ancient.”

“The Night’s Watch is fanatic regarding women. Was fanatic, I suppose we have to say now. Maybe they smuggled a woman into their castles, but bringing one up here couldn’t have been hidden.”

“They had many years to accomplish this,” I pointed out. “And they may have been visited by queens or other noble ladies.”

“Well, I still like to lay claim to this. We’re the first as far as I’m concerned.”

“And likely the last.”

“That, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris encounters another raven.


	46. Chapter Thirty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris goes north.

Chapter Thirty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

Howland Reed and Maege Mormont awaited us at the foot of the stairs. He had been studying Castle Black.

“The castle’s foundations are still solid for the moment,” he said. “Some are driven into the Wall and others into the ground. Eventually it will all fall apart around us.”

“Surely not soon enough,” I said, “to put us in danger.”

“No, but the tunnel through the Wall has collapsed. I suspect that happened when you drove your sword into the Wall and the pulsations started.”

“Do we need to cross to the other side?”

“My children are returning from the north,” he said. “They accompanied Bran Stark there. I would be grateful if you would help me find them with your . . . ability.”

“You set me to kill one child,” I said, still annoyed at his deception, “and now wish me to rescue the others?”

“What are you talking about?” Tansy looked confused. “What child have you killed?”

“Jon Snow was not Eddard Stark’s son,” I said, “but that of his sister named Lyanna. Who now uses the similar name Jyana.”

“So Lady Reed,” Maege said. “Was once Lady Stark. I had wondered at the resemblance. I didn’t know Lyanna well; I named my youngest for her mostly for Ned’s sake. She avoided me at Greywater Watch, but I merely thought her standoffish.”

“Yes,” Howland Reed said. “Jon was the product of rape, and as such my wife did not wish to raise him. And now our true-born children are in grave danger, along with the last of the Starks.”

“Your children,” I said, “are the last of the Starks.”

“There’s still Bran Stark,” Howland Reed said, “who’s travelling with them. He’s been through great changes, and may not be truly human after them. He entwined himself with the old gods.”

“You could claim Winterfell,” Maege said. “In Jojen’s name.”

“I don’t want them involved,” Lord Reed said, rather sharply. “If the Starks end with Bran, then let them end. I want my children back in their home and safe again, and I need the Princess’ special abilities to help me find them.”

“Hasn’t Dejah done enough for you?” Tansy asked. “Not to mention that you set me up to get a sword shoved between my gods-damned unwilling tits?”

“Tansy,” I said. “I would never have harmed you, no matter how great the need or the compulsion. I would have taken your hand, fled to Barsoom and let this planet burn first.”

“I know that,” she said. “I’m angry with this little bastard, not you.”

Her language shocked both Maege and Lord Reed.

“I may be a whore,” she said. “But I’m also a great lord’s daughter in case you’ve forgotten. I’ll speak truth with no by-your-leave.”

“No,” he said. “I deserve it. Your anger is fully justified, but I won’t apologize. What I did was necessary. And whatever I did, for whatever reason, my children played no part. They’ll die north of the Wall unless your sister helps me find them. I need no greensight to tell you that.”

“I have not forgiven you,” I said. “But I will help you find your children. How will we cross the Wall?”

“The wildlings did so using long ropes and spikes they drove into the ice.”

I had climbed the Great Sacred Mountain of Barsoom using similar gear.

“I have done so on my world, though things are different there.” I did not think it the time to explain the lower gravity of Barsoom. “You mean to travel north without horses then.”

“Not by choice.”

The Okar people of Barsoom use long boards called “snow-gliders” to travel atop the snow. I realized that even were such devices available here, they probably would not bear my weight in this planet’s heavier gravity and I would sink into the snow.

“This could be a long journey.”

“I don’t ask this lightly.”

“What of my sister?” I said. “I will not leave her in danger.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tansy said. “If Lady Mormont will stay here, we can keep moving books while you go have an icy adventure.”

“I do not like to leave you alone.”

“I’m tougher than you think,” she smiled. “And Lord Reed is headed north with or without you.”

“This is true,” the swamp lord agreed. “Both statements.”

“Very well. We go north.”

* * *

On the next morning, I climbed the stairs to the top of one of Castle Black’s wooden towers and wrapped heavy ropes around myself to practice for the descent. I well-remembered the climbing techniques I had learned long ago; I wanted to be sure the ropes would hold me in this heavier gravity before I trusted them with a deadly distance below my feet.

Tansy watched from below as I easily bounced down the side of the tower.

“That looks like fun,” she called up to me. “You’ll teach me?”

“I will teach you. It is not difficult.”

She helped me collect the ropes when I had finished, and we once again trudged up the long flight of stairs to the top of the Wall. An elevator had once run up and down the heights, but it had been smashed at some point in the recent past – I had collected bodies from the wreckage and burned them.

Lord Reed waited at the top. Tansy had helped me collect a pack of food and other essential items that I could carry slung over my shoulder. As always I had my sword, and a lightweight javelin for hunting and fishing. Howland Reed had equipped himself similarly, though with a bow and arrows rather than a javelin. He also had a pair of large overshoes to wear atop the snow, and gave me a pair as well along with a small axe used in climbing walls of ice.

We secured our ropes to heavy iron rings sunk deeply into the ice. I poked the ice with a long iron bar I found leaning against the parapet; it had not yet begun to rot from the melting. I backed over the edge first; the ice had a slick coating of water on it but thanks to the hobnails in my boots I kept my footing as I played out the line behind me. I saw Tansy looking over the edge at me.

“Have fun!” she called.

I smiled, but kept my concentration on the rope and the ice. The rope dangled far below me, with heavy knots to provide handholds. It looped around my waist with a specially-made clip to allow me to play it out with my left hand while I held a sharp ice axe in my right. I slipped a few times, but jammed my axe into the ice quickly each time and did not need the clip to prevent a fall.

I had to work my way around a few protruding hunks of ice, but made it to the bottom without incident. The ground was uneven, covered in snow with a crisp layer on top from melting and re-freezing. I looked up and saw Howland Reed making his way down, and a small figure looking over the edge that I knew to be my sister. I waved and she waved back.

I studied the face of the Wall while I awaited Lord Reed. We would leave the ropes in place and climb back up them, bearing the children with us. I was uneasy about this, as the ropes marked the spot where Tansy waited and gave any surviving wildlings or not-dead a route directly to her. But we would have to bring the children over the Wall on the way back, and that would be far more difficult without the ropes to aid us.

I knew that I was much stronger than Howland Reed and intended to take both of the children to the top myself. Looking upward, I decided it would be best to make two trips, even if I had to rest between them.

Howland Reed alighted on his feet. For a man of the swamps, he handled the rope and ice very deftly.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Of course. Which way?”

He pointed along a heavily-trodden trail that led from the Wall across the open ground and into the forest. As we drew further away from the Wall I could see that it originated at a set of wrecked gates; these must have led to the tunnel of which he had spoken earlier.

As we reached the trees, I saw that the trail continued under them. I turned back to the Wall and could still see my sister watching us. I waved both of my arms over my head, and she waved back. Then she was lost to my sight as we entered the forest. 

* * *

I followed Howland Reed up the trail into the woods; the going here was very easy as the snow had been trampled by many feet and I did not need my snow overshoes. He said nothing, which was just as well as the frozen forest had my full attention. I had tramped through the forests of this planet before, and ridden through them on horseback as well. I had been amazed by the prolific life all about me. Here I found utter silence; I could not detect even the scattered, primitive thoughts of the small furry forest animals that had seemed so abundant on the other side of the Wall.

I only felt the thoughts of the trees, slow and ponderous. They did not approve of our presence, and wanted us to depart. I had detected the musing of trees before, but outside of the strange white trees known as “weirwoods” that the Northern people worshipped as gods they had never acknowledged my presence until now, much less evinced hostility toward me. I fancied that they knew that I did not belong here, but I could not unravel enough of their thought process to truly say that for sure.

The forest disturbed me. Other forests on this planet had felt odd, but only because they were so different from those of my home, with their overwhelming green-ness and their plethora of small animal life. This one seemed to have an evil undercurrent to its thoughts. The trees themselves had very narrow, needle-like green leaves and despite the heavy coating of snow clinging to them and the frost I could see on their outer skin, which is known as “bark.” No branches sprang from the lower part of the trees; I could easily walk underneath them. Except for the small and obviously young trees, the lower part of the trees’ trunks were bare except for bark.

How did they live in the frozen ground? Surely the frozen ground must melt sometimes, else they could draw no water upwards from their roots. At least I had assumed that trees and other plants of this planet drew water from the soil, though I had not studied them nor had I thought to ask Tansy. I did not think that I should ask Lord Reed; I did not wish him to think me silly.

So instead I walked steadily behind the swamp lord, who did not seem troubled at all. Eventually we came to a wide clearing dominated by one of the red-leafed weirwood trees.

Dead trees had been cut into sections and turned on their ends to form seats, and the swamp lord stopped and sat on one. I took the place next to him and waited for him to break the long silence. I had knelt before a similar tree in Winterfell with my adoptive sister Lyra; praying to the tree gave her peace even though there are no gods. I had found some benefit myself, despite the white tree’s patent dislike for me, but mostly I had done so because I enjoyed Lyra’s quiet company.

Lord Reed said nothing, but neither did he pray. He thought instead of his dreams, until I finally tired of the game and spoke.

“This tree does not want us here.”

“That face was carved long ago.”

“I can feel its thoughts. All of their thoughts. None of them want us here.”

“Can you feel any other thoughts?”

“Nothing.”

“No people within your range?”

“No thoughts of any sort,” I said, “except for the trees. No horses, no birds, no bunnies. Nothing.”

“They must have fled from the Others.”

“How did they get through the Wall?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps they fled North.”

“Through the Others?”

“I have no explanation,” Howland Reed said. “I only know we have to keep marching North. Are you ready?”

I took a drink from my water bottle and pulled out a piece of dried meat from my bag to chew as I walked. If we could not find animals to eat, I would soon become very hungry and the food I carried would not last long. 

* * *

Howland Reed led the way silently along the path, and I followed in equal silence. I kept seeking out thoughts – any thoughts except those of the irritated trees – without success. Eventually we came to what he called a village, a cluster of four small cottages, all of them damaged to some extent. Night would fall soon and we chose the least damaged of the huts to shelter us while we slept.

The cottage had a fire pit in its center, and the swamp lord built a small blaze there that gave off some heat. It was still cold. I ate a piece of cheese and some bread; I wanted to make my food last as long as possible but I already grew hungry. I unrolled my blanket next to the fire; Lord Reed placed his on the opposite side.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

“The fire helps.”

“I am very warm. You may lay with me if you wish.”

He became flustered. I had finally, accidentally, broken his calm demeanor.

“That’s . . . not proper. I have a wife and you a husband.”

“You have seen me without clothing. You know that you cannot have sex with me, even if we both wished it. I ask if you would like to lay _next_ to me. As I said, I am very warm. You know this, having tried to cool me when I was ill.”

“Apologies, Princess. I am fine here. When we do not have a fire and a cottage, I may wish to accept your offer.”

“Fair enough. Good night, Howland Reed.”

In the morning, there was no bacon, only cold dried meat. We left quickly, and I could tell that the lack of animal life disturbed Howland Reed. We continued to follow the path, stopping to camp around large fires each night. I did not repeat my offer to Howland Reed; when he grew cold enough to share my warmth, he would tell me. I checked on his thoughts all the same to make sure he wasn’t placing his prurient vanity ahead of his health.

After several days we came upon a set of buildings surrounded by a wooden wall atop a low barrier of piled dirt. Lord Reed named it Craster’s Keep. A keep implied a fortress, but I could not see this place resisting an enemy for long. Within the wall were animal pens and a long, low building constructed haphazardly of sticks and dead trees covered in dried mud.

Inside we once again found no animals and no corpses, but we did find a cellar containing a store of salted pig meat, dried grain and other food supplies. Lord Reed brought out a small barrel of ground corn and made what he called “fried mush” for us to eat along with fried pieces of pig meat. He apologized for its plain nature but I found it very satisfying and ate a great deal of it.

The main hall included an enormous bed covered in furs, but they stank and I did not wish to dirty myself on them. I found some less-filthy furs on rickety beds in the loft overhead and dragged them down to an open wooden platform in front of a large stone fireplace. I settled in before the fire, with Howland Reed a ways away snuggled in his own pile of furs.

“Lord Reed,” I finally said. “I do not plan to seduce you.”

“You can read my thoughts.”

“Truly, I am trying not to do so. But I am searching very hard for any wisp of thought I can detect, and so inevitably I pick up the thoughts of the only active mind within my range.”

He sighed.

“You’re an exotic, beautiful woman. I try to think of you as a comrade, truly I do, and then I look at you.”

“One’s thoughts are one’s own,” I said. “You have never been trained to shield yours and I take no offense at them. Truly I do not. We will find your children and we will bring them home, and I will continue to honor you for saving my life. Eventually I may forgive you for setting me to kill your stepson and putting the lives of my sister and my friend at risk.”

“It shames me, knowing that you know.”

“You have done me no dishonor. Please try to shed your thoughts of shame. They bother me far more than when you think of placing your sex organ between my breasts like Azor Ahai.”

“Are you always this blunt?”

“I am sorry,” I said, “it is our way. Many people have asked me this. We speak in a combination of verbal words and telepathy, and so there is no point to hiding one’s meaning.”

“It’s very different than our ways.”

“So it is. I can cease seeking thoughts when you ask, if you need to . . . relieve your physical discomfort.”

“Just please,” he asked, “don’t offer to relieve it yourself.”

“It would not bother me to do so.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Then I will change the subject. You have had dreams. Have you any idea where we should go next?”

“There’s a road leading to the northwest,” he said, “which I believe goes to the Fist of the First Men. A rocky outcrop that offers views of the surrounding lands, with ancient fortifications at its crest.

“Another, more heavily trampled path continues to lead due north. But I believe we should now turn to the east, though it means much harder going. I have seen my children leaving a cave and heading south. I believe it to be east of here.”

“Is there a road or a path?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “It will be difficult to keep our heading among the trees.”

“Follow the rising sun and go away from the setting sun.”

“Easy enough if you can see it.”

“The trees can.”

“And you can read that in their thoughts?”

“It is one of the few things that their thoughts reveal.” 

* * *

In the morning, there was bacon. This pleased me greatly. Howland Reed made more fried mush, and I carved a large piece of bacon and wrapped it in a waterproof cloth I found in the cooking area. I re-filled my food bag with dried meat and dried fruit from the food stores. Well-supplied, I was ready to go. We put on our overshoes and set out through the trees.

On the fourth day of our march to the east, I finally detected an animal.

“Lord Reed,” I whispered sharply to the swamp lord trudging ahead of me. “A predator approaches.”

He strung his bow and nocked an arrow. I drew my sword and moved close behind him. I knew he felt my presence but I did not want my voice to carry.

“It is very hungry,” I said, “and hunting. It senses us.”

“What is it?”

I paused, allowing it to draw closer.

“Wolf, I believe,” I said. “Usually they fear me. It detects my presence and is afraid of me, but its hunger pushes it forward.”

I pointed to the northeast, and soon the wolf could be seen among the trees.

“It is enormous,” I said softly. “That arrow will not harm it. My sword will.”

“Don’t,” Howland Reed answered, equally softly. “That’s a dire wolf. The Stark children each had one as companion. I’d wager that’s Brandon Stark’s dire wolf.”

I kept my sword in my hand as the dire wolf approached. It had an innate dislike for me, sensing my telepathic contact, and I did not care for it either. It wished us to follow it to the Reed children.

“It wishes us to follow it to your children,” I told Lord Reed.

“I had gathered as much.”

We walked southward, with the wolf in the lead followed by Lord Reed, while I brought up the rear. I sheathed my sword but kept a watch on the wolf’s thoughts. If it wished to make a meal of us, it would taste Valyrian steel instead.

As we walked, I detected a shift in the wolf’s thoughts as though two consciousnesses now inhabited one mind. This struck me as odd, and I decided to monitor the animal. The second entity, whatever it was, showed no sign of noticing my mental presence and apparently had no experience with telepathy as practiced by my people.

After a lengthy march I detected two humans ahead, and as we walked on I could sense that one was a young man, the other a young woman. I told Lord Reed and he became excited, quickening his pace.

He ran to them when we spotted their tiny camp. The young man was slumped against a tree, wrapped in a thin blanket, while the young woman hovered over him. They had built a small fire, but had no food. Lord Reed hugged them both and then proceeded to examine his son.

“Cold sickness,” he said. “His body is losing heat, so he’s losing function.”

“He will die soon?” I asked.

“If he’s not warmed, yes.”

“We have to get Bran,” said the young woman. “I brought Jojen here and was about to go back for Bran. Hodor’s hurt and too exhausted to carry him without help.”

Her thoughts described Hodor as a large man who had helped them, and been injured in a fight with not-dead creatures while he defended the children.

“This is my daughter, Meera,” Howland Reed said. “And my son, Jojen. If you would go with Meera, I’ll build up the fire and tend to Jojen until you return.”

I nodded and followed the girl through the trees. I realized that she was older than I had thought at first; she was slightly shorter than her father, with long brown hair and very noticeable large green eyes.

“Are you truly a princess?” she asked me. “And a warrior?”

She admired the hilt of my sword sticking over my shoulder, wondering if I knew how to use it. She had fought Frey raiders herself; her brother apparently did not wish to bear arms and instead studied the arcane arts of their father.

“Yes,” I said. “I fought alongside Sabas and other House Reed soldiers against the Boltons. I killed the Night’s King in single combat.”

She stopped her long strides and looked into my eyes.

“You are Azor Ahai. And that sword is Lightbringer.”

She stated these as facts rather than questions.

“Yes,” I repeated. “Or so your father says. The Night’s King made Sansa Stark his not-dead queen. My sword was covered in flame after I thrust it through her heart.”

The wolf trotted along some distance behind us. It did not like me, and I returned the emotion. Meera warmed toward me after learning that I had fulfilled an ancient prophecy, and told me of her own adventures alongside Bran Stark, who had become a mythical figure known as the Three-Eyed Raven.

“My brother claimed it necessary that Bran follow this destiny,” she said. “I never truly saw the point to it. Once Bran took on the Raven’s powers, he seemed barely human and little interested in the affairs of men. So what’s the purpose of knowing the past, sitting in a cave under a tree leagues north of the Wall, unable to share whatever you learn? There’s no point to knowing all the stories, and then never telling them.”

“Perhaps this Raven is not interested in assisting Mankind.”

“I wondered about that,” Meera said. “The old man seemed to have his own purpose, that he wrapped in a great deal of mystical talk. The Children of the Forest made it clear that they had no love for the First Men, then or now.”

She went on to explain that these Children were actually extremely ancient beings who had lived in Westeros before the current inhabitants had come from the Eastern Continent and exterminated most of the Children. The Children had created the Others, Meera and her friends learned from Bran Stark, as a weapon against the First Men.

That made perfect sense to me. That the Others were artificial beings had been clear from their thought patterns. Perhaps these Children, or their ancestors, were the technologically-superior people who had built the Wall as well and the sophisticated caverns beneath Winterfell.

Meera had met several of the Children, though all had been killed soon after by the Others or their not-dead minions. They claimed to be personally quite ancient, though they offered no proof of this. Those who had died in the assault on the Raven’s underground cavern may have been the last of their kind.

Eventually I detected two thought patterns ahead, and as we drew closer, I again felt the presence of the odd additional entity. Its “taste,” as we call the unique properties of a thought pattern, showed it to be the same as that I had felt in the wolf’s mind. The entity was not a true telepath, or it would have noticed my probes, but it had enormously greater range than my own abilities and could easily therefore be much stronger than I. I would have to be wary.

In a forest clearing, we found two people, a thin young man and an older, very large man. Meera introduced them as Bran Stark and Hodor, respectively. While she spoke with Bran I squatted on my heels in front of the huge man, who sat with his legs splayed out.

“Hodor,” he said. “Hodor.”

“I am Dejah,” I told him. “Your name is not Hodor.”

“Hodor.”

“Your name is Walder. And you are afraid.”

“Hodor!” he said sharply, becoming agitated. “Hodor!”

“The dead frightened him,” Meera said. “As they frightened us all. He saved us from them.”

“Hodor.”

“That is not what he fears,” I said. “He has been subjected to . . . something else.”

I felt the alien consciousness now creep into Walder’s mind. Someone, or something, else now regarded me through his eyes.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Hodor.”

“You control his speech centers,” I said. “Answer my question.”

“Hodor.”

The entity began to panic; it did not know how I had detected its presence.

“You do not have his permission,” I said. “You are taking his body against his will.”

The consciousness fled Walder’s mind. Moments later the wolf growled and sprang toward me. I had just enough time to meet the wolf’s slavering jaws with the armored gauntlet on my right arm, jamming it deeply into its mouth to keep it from biting me.

“Bran!” Meera Reed screamed. “What are you doing?”

She believed the strange consciousness to emanate from the crippled young man. Knowing the source, I concentrated on Bran Stark’s thoughts while I grabbed a thick handful of fur and skin at the back the wolf’s neck and dragged it to the ground.

The consciousness left the wolf’s mind, but the animal was now excited and angry enough to attack me on its own in what it thought was defense of Meera Reed and not its supposed owner, Bran Stark. I had it pinned where it could not hurt me, but Walder now crashed into me with his shoulder, springing the wolf loose. As the beast prepared to leap on me again, Meera darted between us, holding out her hands toward the wolf. The wolf delayed its attack but growled menacingly.

Walder slumped to the ground and began to weep; the consciousness had left him. It now attempted to invade my mind, but I had anticipated such an assault and prepared my mental defenses. As a princess, I have been bred for telepathy and intensively trained to defend my thoughts from other telepaths. The state secrets in my memory, utterly useless on this planet, had to be kept away from enemy spies.

This consciousness had no such training, but it did possess enormous natural strength and I repelled it only with difficulty. Meera flung her arms around the wolf’s neck.

“Stop it, Bran!” she screamed. “Stop this now.”

The consciousness continued to press at my defenses; it had never encountered such before. It had inhabited Bran Stark’s mind, but was not his own consciousness - this was a separate, disembodied being.

Now that I had felt its patterns, the “taste” of its mind, I knew better how to stop it. It tried to leap back into the wolf and then into Walder, but I blocked it each time. It grew frightened.

 _What are you?_ I asked silently.

_The Three-Eyed Raven. For years I was trapped in a useless shell of a body, under a rotting tree of the Far North. Then I found this slightly less useless shell of a body. But now I’ve found you, beautiful and powerful. With your body and your mental powers, I will rule as the gods intended._

It was certainly a verbose entity, though it needed no breath to boast of its plans.

_You wish to be their king? A crippled boy?_

_I am not a crippled boy. Once, I was young and strong and I should have been king. I am only taking what is rightfully mine._

“Kill me,” Bran Stark suddenly spat out. “Trap it in me and kill me.”

I pressed the entity back into Brand Stark’s mind, but the terrified being struck back with its full force. I gasped and sank to one knee, concentrating to keep it penned within the crippled boy.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Meera Reed leave the wolf and draw an obsidian dagger.

“Not . . . dragon . . . glass,” Bran Stark said, each word causing obvious agony as he too struggled with the mysterious force. “Steel. Use . . . steel.”

Now weeping, Meera looked about for another weapon. Her eyes fell on a three-pointed spear leaning against a tree. As she leapt for it, the entity tried to seize her will. I blocked its move, but I felt myself tiring rapidly. I had centuries of mental training and discipline where the disembodied creature had none, but it apparently had greater strength and stamina, and was fighting for its very existence.

“Hurry,” I told her. “I cannot hold it in him much longer.”

“I’m sorry,” she wept, and she considered stabbing me instead as the entity gave up trying to take control and instead whispered a suggestion into Meera’s mind. She came closer to me and raised the spear, pointing it at my breast. I leaned forward and punched her in the face.

The sharp pain broke the contact between this Three-Eyed Raven and Meera Reed. I picked up her spear and threw it at Bran Stark as hard as I could. I had aimed for his chest but it took him in the throat, pinning him to the tree against which he lay. He made a horrid gurling sound and his arms thrashed about. As he died, I felt the Three-Eyed Raven die with him. It desperately fought to break past the barriers I held around its essence, and the effort forced me to my hands and knees.

I settled back onto my knees, looked upward and breathed deeply. Walder stood over me.

“You . . . hurt?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “But very tired. You can speak.”

“Not easy,” he said. “Years without.”

I was too drained by the mental battle to probe his mind. I hoped he could recover his faculties.

“Need help?”

“I only need rest, and water,” I said. “Please check Meera. I did not wish to hurt her.”

“Know that,” he said, shuffling past to look at the girl. He had suffered a leg injury at some point recently, but could walk with difficulty. “Not stupid. Only . . . controlled.”

“The Three-Eyed Raven?” I asked.

“Yes. Many years. You rest. I fix Meera.”

The wolf sat on its haunches and stared at me; its thoughts pondered whether I was friend or enemy. It had known that Meera was under mental attack, but did not like that I had punched her.

I took over the blankets that Walder had placed for his own rest, shrugged off my sword-belt and eased my back against a tree. I left Bran Stark’s body pinned to his tree; Walder could do with it as he wished. I kept my sword in its sheath but lay it across my lap and I did not sleep, as I did not trust either Walder or the wolf not to take vengeance on me for killing Bran and punching Meera, but I did begin to feel better after a time.

Meanwhile, Walder built a large fire to burn Bran Stark’s body, and brought Meera back to consciousness. She sat alongside me, also leaning against the tree.

“You should not sleep,” I said. “After a blow to the head.”

“I know,” she said. “Thank you for hitting me. I didn’t want to kill you.”

We watched Walder remove the spear from Bran Stark’s throat and lay his body on the pieces of dead trees that he had prepared.

“I think I loved him,” Meera said. “I had daydreams of Father betrothing me to him. Our fathers were good friends.”

“I know,” I said, and then in my exhaustion spoke truthfully before I could stop myself. “Your father would not have married you to Bran Stark. He is your cousin.”

“I know,” she said in turn. “Mother and Father think that we don’t, but Jojen has the greensight. But I would have figured it out anyway. It’s not the sort of secret that’s easy to keep.”

“I killed your brother,” I said as the destructive honesty continued to flow, “Jon Snow.”

“Half-brother. And it was necessary.”

Her father had said the same thing, with almost the same words.

“You do not blame me, for killing your half-brother and your cousin?”

“I never knew Jon Snow,” she said. “And you heard Bran. He begged us to kill him, and not to use dragonglass so he wouldn’t become a Walker. You were fading. The fight had to end or you were going to lose, and only the gods know what the Three-Eyed Raven would do with you as his host.”

“You knew of his plan?”

“To manipulate people and events to make himself king? Jojen saw it. I should have killed Bran myself but . . . I thought I loved him.”

Walder had finally brought the leaves and twigs alight, and now blew softly on the small flames.

“When we have seen Bran Stark burn,” I said. “We will head back to your father and brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris battles an ice dragon.


	47. Chapter Thirteen (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter gains new allies, and new enemies.

Chapter Thirteen (John Carter)

Our army emerged from the mountain pass known as the Sand Road leading back into the western regions of Essos, having marched hundreds of miles and fought dozens of battles since we crossed the Steel Road into the eastern lands months before. Our numbers were somewhat decreased due to losses in battle and the usual attrition suffered by any army on the move. Mormont had held these to lower than my kos expected, but I still found our staff capabilities lacking.

Some of the losses among the Dothraki and the crossbow, pike and heavy cavalry brigades had been balanced by small Dothraki khalasars, no more than a few hundred men each, that sought us out and joined us. We also had the addition of 2,500 Hyrkoon women warriors. They formed two brigades of light cavalry, at 1,000 women each, with 500 more attached to my Companions.

I had agreed to make love to the Hyrkoon women, who sent the comeliest and most potentially fertile to serve with the Companions. I made sure to service at least one of them every day; should my seed take hold, the woman would return to the Hyrkoon lands with an escort and another would return in her place.

We’d probably lost 20,000 fighting men in the campaigns against the Jogos Nhai, or roughly ten percent of our numbers. Those who remained had been toughened by the steady riding and fighting, and made far more effective through the training regimes I’d instituted for weapons usage, small-unit tactics and large-unit maneuvers. We were evolving from a horde into an army, and probably had about the same combat strength as when we’d set out on the campaign.

The campaign’s results elated my Dothraki. We had crushed the Jogos Nhai whenever they met us in battle, and if we had lost 20,000 men plus another thousand women of the Hyrkoon, then their battlefield losses equaled at least ten times that. In addition, we had destroyed their camps and herds wherever we found them, and probably killed a half-million more of their folk. They would not pose a threat to our allies or to the eastern flank of the Dothraki lands for at least a full generation if not longer. But I was under no illusions in this regard; we had not exterminated them. They would breed, they would revive, and they would hate. Eventually they would mount their zorses and seek vengeance against us.

I considered the campaign a major success. The Dothraki were not used to casualties on such a scale; their khalasars usually contented themselves with raids that met little opposition. When they did fight, against outside enemies or other khalasars, the winners saw few losses while the losers faced existential catastrophe.

While we had taken some treasures from the defeated Jogos Nhai, we remained relatively poor. I had funds enough to pay the small segment of our troops who received wages, but we would need far more gold to cover the additional paid soldiers we would need and the weapons to arm them and to upgrade Dothraki arms.

And so I had planned our next campaign to meet these needs. To the south lay the city of Qarth, and to the west, the three great cities of what was known as Slaver’s Bay. Qarth made its fortune from trade, and from control of a strategic strait leading from east to west. My Dothraki _ko_ s told me that the khalasars never traded there, as the Qartheen despised the Dothraki and would not buy - as the Dothraki put it, offer gifts in exchange for - their slaves.

The three slaver cities, from north to south named Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor, specialized in the buying and selling of human flesh and happily did business with the Dothraki. They were each as large as Myr or Pentos, and between them probably housed a million people, most of them slaves. Astapor trained the Unsullied, and that made it my prime target. Geographically, it would also be the most difficult to approach as it lay at the end of the road from our current location.

We would take all four cities. After consulting with the Hyrkoon, I didn’t see the cities’ aristocratic governments yielding and accepting my rule without a fight. Bringing them into our growing empire would send a message to other lands, that hopefully would then yield peacefully to the new order. If not, we would crush them as well.

I recalled many weapons from my previous lives that would crack their defenses. The near-desert lands north of Qarth provided no wood to build siege engines, and so I had introduced my new Hyrkoon subjects to gunpowder. Under my direction they had manufactured high-quality corned powder, now stored in thick 50-pound sacks in the wagons that followed our khalasar. These lands did not have the skill with metals to make useful guns or cannon, and I lacked the knowledge to teach them. I hoped that the explosive charges alone would be sufficient.

* * *

Calling my leading generals and advisors together, I laid out my decision. We would strike Qarth by surprise, without first demanding its surrender. The Milk Men, as the Dothraki called the pale-skinned Qartheen, would not give up their sovereignty and their wealth so easily, and undertaking the useless ritual of negotiations would only alert them to our intent and force us into the siege warfare we were unequipped to conduct. We would appear suddenly out of the desert like some ancient, mythical and unstoppable monster.

“My chieftain,” my princess began. She stood alongside me as we all clustered around a table spread with a map of Slaver’s Bay, Qarth and surrounding lands and waters. “I’m just a girl who knows nothing of war. But we cannot attack Astapor until the Unsullied have been secured, is that not correct?”

“It is, my princess.”

“Qarth will yield the gold,” Mormont added. “More than sufficient to purchase all the Unsullied that Astapor has to offer.”

“It is known,” Irri said. Doreah repeated it.

“It is known,” Daenerys said slowly. “Yet only if the sack goes as planned. The Qartheen could set their city alight. They could resist at the walls or within the city longer than we hope, possibly much longer. They could escape by ship, at least the richest of them. Are these possible?”

“Of course, my princess,” I said. “In war, the only thing truly known is that there are many unknowns. We try to do away with as many as we can with training and planning, but we cannot eliminate them all.”

She nodded.

“I have a concern, my chieftain. Even once we have the gold of Qarth, if the Astapori learn of the sack and fear us, they may refuse to sell their very best defense to those who would destroy them.”

“A merchant will gladly sell you the rope by which you hang him,” I said. “But your fears have substance, my princess.”

With his finger, Pono traced a route to Astapor across a section of the map devoid of roads.

“My sister,” he addressed Rastifa, as the Dothraki had taken to calling the Hyrkoon after seeing their ferocity in battle, “we have never ridden this far south. Can we cross directly to Astapor?”

“Perhaps, my brother,” she said, tracing a line with her own finger. “A region of dry hills between the valley of the River Worm and the Ghiscari lands could be a difficulty. And Ghiscar, which claims these lands, might war on us.”

“My chieftain,” Daenerys said. “I had a different thought. That we send an embassy ahead, to Astapor, and attempt to negotiate a purchase of the Unsullied before they realize that we come as conquerors.”

I nodded. My wife made good sense. But none of my Dothraki, who scorned money as a concept, could be entrusted with such a mission. Mormont lacked subtlety; Orange Cat was barely verbal, and Lodovico still a mercenary at heart. That left the khaleen or Rastifa.

“I’m needed here,” I finally said. “And I don’t know who to send in my place.”

“Send me,” Daenerys said. “With a strong guard, and Lizhi and Rastifa to advise me. And my dragons.”

My princess was eager to prove herself. And she did carry diplomatic weight, as my wife and in her own identity as the last Targaryen. Even so, I feared for her safety.

Yet she would have her dragons. Three of them had hatched from our son’s funeral pyre, and Daenerys had named them Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion, for the khal I had slain to begin my climb to world conquest, and her dead brothers.

My princess had come to view her pets as surrogates for the child we had lost, and I must admit that her behavior troubled me. She called them her “children,” and she fed them by hand even after they began to breathe fire. They had grown to about the size of a very large dog, perhaps 100 pounds each, though Drogon the black dragon was noticeably larger than the other two.

Daenerys claimed personality traits for them, and believed that she loved them as though they were indeed children. I did not tell her that their thoughts showed them about as aware as a fairly stupid dog; they could probably learn simple commands but they would never show initiative to solve problems, like a crow or a cat. They were big flying lizards that could breathe fire, and a danger to friend or foe.

I heard tales from both the Dothraki and the Hyrkoon, and read them in my books of Westerosi history, that claimed that dragons had once been ridden and used as weapons of war. I found this hard to believe. A man can ride a horse to war, because a horse is a very smart animal. A dragon is not. You’d do about as well to unleash alligators on your enemies.

I still had no answer for my princess. The dragons would be no help, but she was determined to undertake this mission in my name.

“Let it be as the khaleesi says, John Carter,” Lizhi finally broke the silence. “Send Rakharo with a strong guard of Dothraki, and a khas of the warrior women as well.”

An embassy headed by three women could not possibly be seen as a threat. I didn’t believe that they could obtain the Unsullied, but they did stand a chance of doing so. And if they could, it would greatly increase our fighting power.

“Very well,” I said. “The khaleesi shall head the embassy, accompanied by Lizhi and Rastifa. Rakharo to head her guard, with two thousand Dothraki and one thousand Hyrkoon. Ko Aggo will shadow them at a distance of two day’s ride, with his full khas.”

That would put another 20,000 men at short notice, in case of unforeseen troubles. And I would instruct Rakharo to be sure that the Astapori had no opportunity to take such a valuable hostage.

Daenerys smiled broadly, and then reached up and kissed me in full view of all my staff and advisors. It both embarrassed and thrilled me.

“While the khaleesi rides to Astapor,” I said. “The rest of us will take Qarth by storm.

“Ko Qhono,” I addressed the chief of our long-range scouts. “I require live prisoners: travelers or merchants of the Qartheen. Leave no signs of their disappearance, either survivors or corpses.”

He nodded, silently, but took pleasure in his leading role in the coming campaign.

“Ko Moro, I require a thick screen along our southern flank. We will move the khalasar slowly westward to obtain fresh grazing. Anyone who ventures out of Qarth does not venture back in. I don’t want the Qartheen to know of our presence until we’re coming through their gates.”

“As you say, Khal John. The Milk Men shall be rendered blind.”

“Khal John,” Rastifa interrupted. “There’s nothing to the west but the Red Waste, a terrible desert devoid of grazing. We will have to move south, toward Qarth.”

“Very well,” I said. “When we have prisoners and have taken their knowledge, we’ll plan the attack on Qarth. Ko Qhono, Ko Moro, heed the words of our sister. We do not have long.”

* * *

Despite myself, I found Daenerys’ assertiveness during the conference highly arousing, and immediately wished to make love to her. I summoned Doreah to prepare my princess, but Daenerys sent her away.

“Today,” she said, “I am all the woman you need.”

She proved as assertive in the tent’s bed chamber as she had been in the conference chamber, pressing me onto my back and mounting my engorged manhood with supreme confidence. She rode me with the poise of a queen; her thoughts betrayed that she had asked Doreah to prepare her for this moment, but in my excitement, I found that I did not mind.

Looking up at my princess, I had never seen anything quite so beautiful: her perfect face and bosom framed by the light diffused by the tent’s canvas. I ran my hands down her flanks, down her smooth and perfect thighs, then up across her belly to rest on her bosom. The marks on her belly shamed her, but reminded me of what she had sacrificed for me, for the both of us. She threw her head back as feminine hysteria overtook her, just as I finished my own passion.

It had not been proper love-making. Yet I would remember that moment for the rest of my life, and all of the lives to follow.

* * *

I had told Qhono that I needed fast results, and he did not disappoint me. Riding alongside my wife later that same day, I attempted light conversation to avoid the subject of her upcoming departure. She gamely tried to return my overtures, but I was relieved when one of Qhono’s men approached, requiring my attention.

“My khal,” he said. “Our scouts found a small group seeking you, approaching from the city of the Milk Men.”

“They are from Qarth?” I asked. His thoughts showed some confusion over how to describe them.

“We believe them to be from across the poison sea,” he said. “They say they have come at the bidding of a man named Illyrio Mopatis.”

Illyrio had had an idea of where I had intended to ride after leaving Vaes Dothrak, but that conversation had taken place months ago. It was pure luck that this small group had found us; I wondered how many others were wandering aimlessly across Essos in search of my khalasar. Signaling to Mormont, I kicked Demon’s ribs and followed the scout to join Qhono and our visitors. Daenerys and Mormont rode on either side of me.

These turned out to be two men and a woman, along with six hired guards from Qarth, all of them riding camels. All wore hoods against the bright sun, and in hopes of concealing their identities. In the act of thinking how to hide their names and origins, they of course thought of them and thereby revealed their secrets to my telepathy.

I pulled up next to Qhono, who greeted me and gestured to the three riders.

“They knew the sign of peace,” he said. “And asked for you by name, both as John Carter and as Khal John.”

“Have they said anything?”

“Only to insist that they must speak with you in person. And also with the khaleesi and with Jorah the Andal.”

“Alright. Let’s see what they have to say.”

I moved my horse forward to within speaking distance, Qhono and Mormont trailing behind me. Belwas, who had followed along with Calye, gestured to my princess to remain alongside them.

The three strangers lowered their hoods, revealing an older man with a shock of white hair, a somewhat younger and heavyset man with thick black curls, and a lovely woman with long blonde hair braided and wrapped about her head. I caught a spike of alarm from Mormont’s thoughts as the woman lowered her covering.

“I’m John Carter,” I said. “Khal John of the Dothraki, and the Stallion Who Mounts the World. I’m told that you seek me.”

“My name is Arstan Whitebeard,” said the old man, who had been chosen to speak for all three. “I’m a squire, come seeking to serve Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Truly, Ser Barristan Selmy,” I said. “You’ve not been a squire since the Warrior was the Recruit. A knight of your repute need not hide behind such a ridiculous disguise.”

He recovered quickly from his surprise and considered arguing, but saw no point.

“I betrayed the princess’s father,” he said. “I did not know if I would be welcome. And I wanted to judge her character before I revealed myself, both hers and yours.”

“You’ll have that chance,” I said. “And your companions? Your true names, if you would.”

“Syrio Forel,” the younger man said, with a flourish I found amusing. “Formerly, First Sword of Braavos.”

“Lady Lynesse Mormont,” the woman said in a voice she believed to be sultry and seductive. “Wife to your senior adviser, Lord Jorah Mormont.”

I felt rage spike in my chief of staff, but he said nothing, only emitting a low growl. He both wanted to kill his wife, and to make forceful love to her. I understood these contradictory impulses, though at the time I didn’t know why.

“Illyrio sent you?” I asked. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“That we were interesting people,” Lynesse Mormont said, sliding out of her cloak and stretching her arms to display her prominent bosom, one side of which was left bare by the Qartheen gown she wore, “that he had collected for your pleasure, John Carter.”

She desired me. I must admit that she had been blessed with a very fine bosom and I relished the prospect of exploring it at close range, but a good commander does not partake of the wives of his subordinates. It amused me to see how she resembled Doreah, who I had ordered to accommodate Mormont’s manly needs. His inability to perform then now seemed understandable.

“From what I’ve heard of you, Lady Mormont,” I said, “I didn’t expect to meet you in such a place as this.”

“I’ve seen luxury,” she said. “And I hope to see it again. Your friend Illyrio said I might have to endure some hard times before you, and my lord husband, are once again living in suitable station.”

“You may remain with us as long as it suits Ser Jorah,” I said, careful to use his proper title. He had lost his lordship when he fled Westeros. “Should you become a distraction, I’ll send you away no matter his wishes. I live like my Dothraki brothers and expect the same of all who follow me, whatever their origin. It is simple and rewarding.”

“I’m sore already,” she admitted. “There are no carriages, my lord?”

“None,” I said. “We ride. That’s the Dothraki way. Only the infants, their mothers and the dying ride in carts.”

“I’ll make do,” she said, calculating the riches awaiting Mormont - and the opportunity to wreak vengeance on his family who had shunned her - to be worth the discomfort. “Thank you, my lord.”

I nodded to her, and looked at the younger man.

“Sword master,” I said. “Are you as fine with a blade as they claim?”

“Who are ‘they,’ my lord?”

“First Sword of Braavos,” I said. “Commander of the Sealord’s guards, the best of the bravos.”

“I am no mere bravo,” he said. “Though once, I was. You have seen my city?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve read of it. We’ll be at war with Braavos eventually, and conquer it. Does that trouble you?”

“If it troubled me, I wouldn’t be here.”

He held a deep grudge against the Sealord and the man who had replaced him as First Sword. He expected us to war on his home city, and would ask the opportunity to meet the new First Sword in single combat. He also carried a bitter hatred for the Lannister rulers of Westeros; I would need to learn more of his connection to Westeros.

“Very well,” I said. “I’ll test your metal tomorrow, at sunrise before we ride out. Amuse me with your skill and you may remain and pledge your sword to me.”

I studied the last man.

“Ser Barristan,” I said. “You should have been honest with me. I value honesty.”

“I understand, my lord. I was wrong. My apologies.”

“What do you hope to gain here?”

“My honor,” he replied, instantly. “By serving the last Targaryen, to redeem my lack of fealty.”

“She is my wife,” I said, “which means serving me. You’ve come to offer your sword?”

He forced the camel to kneel and dismounted, drew his sword and approached on foot. Qhono reached for his own blade but I gestured to him to remain in place. Barristan knelt before my horse, his sword point-first on the ground before him.

“I pledge to you my life and my loyalty,” he said. “I pledge my sword and my honor.”

I dismounted, and held out my hand.

“And I pledge to you a place at my side,” I said. “And to never ask that you besmirch your honor.”

He took my hand and rose, with a surprisingly strong grip.

“I’ll test your metal as well,” I said. “You’ll ride with me, inform me of conditions in Westeros, and give me your counsel.”

“And fight by your side,” he added.

“Of course,” I said. He hoped to die in battle, somewhere in Westeros. I would not deny him the chance, but would not see him throw away his life.

I looked back at Daenerys and nodded; she dismounted and walked to my side. Selmy repeated the ritual of giving her his sword, which she accepted.

“I do so out of trust in my husband’s judgement,” she told the knight. “I will not feel full trust until you have proven yourself in his service.”

“As it should be, my khaleesi,” he said. “I know this to be my last chance at redemption.”

“Tell your escort that they may join my army,” I told him, “or be killed. They will not be returning to Qarth in any other fashion.”

* * *

As I had promised, I sparred with both Syrio Forel and Barristan Selmy as the sun rose on the following morning. Each proved a worthy opponent, with Syrio pushing me to my limits. Selmy was a wily old veteran, though no longer as fast as Syrio.

“Syrio,” I told the sword master, “I will be happy to accept you into my service.”

He bowed, making a leg and giving a flourish with his hand.

“You’ll serve as sword-master, and spar with me on a regular basis. You’ll also train those of my Companions as I designate.”

I invited Selmy to join me for breakfast, at an outdoor table where my princess awaited us. After they had exchanged pleasantries, we took our seats and I began to question my new advisor.

“You were a royal guard,” I said. “But also a soldier?”

“The duties overlap in Westeros, my lord. Kings often use the Kingsguard as battle commanders, as the expression of the royal will.”

“In private you may call me whatever you wish,” I said. “I care little for formalities. In front of the Dothraki, they prefer ‘my khal’ or ‘Khal John’.”

“As you say, my khal.”

“You passed through Qarth,” I resumed. “Tell me what you saw, with a soldier’s eye.”

“You plan to take the city?”

“I do.”

He took a long swig of his coffee to prepare himself.

“Qarth is said to be impregnable,” he began. “Like most such claims, that’s not necessarily true. The walls are impressive. A triple layer, each progressively taller and made of sterner stuff each time. They’re said to be a wonder of the world, and they are quite lovingly decorated.”

“How tall and thick?”

“I’d put the outermost at thirty feet, the second at forty and the inner wall at fifty. Each fifteen to twenty feet thick.”

Thirty feet could be scaled. But anyone who crossed the first wall would be trapped in a killing zone between the walls and shot down with arrows and other projectiles.

“But a wall must have a gate,” Selmy said, as though he were the mind-reader. “And those of Qarth have many. Qarth is a trading city, and that apparently took precedence over defense. You or I would have designed the gates to be offset, so they don’t align with one another.”

I nodded; Selmy meant no flattery but recognition of another soldier’s outlook.

“Qarth’s gates are aligned. When all three are open, one can see directly from the desert outside to the heart of the city. In Westeros, most every castle’s gates are raised or lowered by chain mechanisms. You’re familiar with those?”

I nodded again.

“The gates of Qarth are actual, swinging gates. Each set is very thick, three to four feet of seasoned timber reinforced by steel, with a heavy bar to secure them. But at the gates I saw, only the outermost had been regularly opened and closed. Sand had been allowed to pile up against the two inner gates.”

“So if we rush the outer gates,” I said, “they won’t have time to close the inner gates.”

“That’s right,” he said. “But you’d still need to break through the outer gates.”

“I believe we have that means,” I said. “I was concerned about the inner gates. Tell me about the watch and the garrison.”

“About what you’d expect,” he said. “They hire sellswords for most of their needs. In the city, a full-time Civic Guard mans the walls and the gates. Watchmen to check cargoes going in and out. Archers on the walls above the outer gates. No one on the two inner walls or gates.”

“They’re lazy.”

“Yes,” Selmy said. “Their power’s made them arrogant. They have no enemies, as far as they know. Their misfortune that you’ve chosen them to make a statement.”

“You don’t approve.”

“Actually, if I understand your purpose, I do. You hope that other cities will surrender without a fight, if the unconquerable Qarth lies at your feet.”

“Yes. And to fund further conquests. It’s said to be the richest city in the world.”

“We’ll need to secure the port,” Selmy said. “Lest they spirit away their wealth by ship, where your Dothraki can’t follow. But I’m not sure what other locations need to be seized.”

“I have patrols looking for merchants,” I said. “One of them brought you in.”

After breakfast, I took Selmy to visit our smiths. He found a set of battered Westerosi armor and pointed out the repairs he desired, while I checked the inventory for grappling hooks. The Dothraki often raided walled towns and between the khalasars we had absorbed hundreds of solid hooks had been added to our equipment. I instructed our smiths to attach fifty feet of stout rope to each usable hook; we might soon have need of them.

* * *

Two days after Selmy and his companions arrived, my princess departed on her embassy. Mormont and his wife had engaged in at least four screaming arguments during that span, and at his request I attached Lynesse to Daenerys’ entourage. Lynesse Mormont had spent years in Essos and knew a great deal of its court etiquette, and given her eagerness to ingratiate herself with me I hoped she would be useful. At the very least, it meant that I would not have to hear her harridan’s screech for at least four weeks.

Doreah and the Dothraki handmaids went as well, with Belwas as personal guard. I would still have Calye to satisfy my most base needs, and I would not neglect my daily duty with the Hyrkoon women. I still anticipated the moment when I would hold my princess in my arms again, even as she approached me to take her leave.

Not caring who witnessed us or what they thought, I swept her into my arms, off her feet, and kissed her.

“Be safe,” I whispered. “Come back to me.”

“I will, my chieftain, with ten thousand Unsullied in my wake.”

That afternoon, Qhono produced another group of three interesting captives. I had questioned several merchants already, none of whom could expand on what I had already learned from Selmy and the Hyrkoon. But these new arrivals represented a great deal of knowledge, and they had come looking for me. Or more correctly, for my wife and her dragons.

Knowing the prisoners to have come from Qarth, Qhono’s men had treated them far more roughly than they had Selmy and his companions. They had been tied to lances rammed into the ground, with their hands behind them. All were quite angry at the treatment.

I dismounted and, with Calye and Ornela on either side of me, inspected our new guests. Selmy trailed behind us. The first was a woman wearing a red mask; her thoughts showed her very calm, but disappointed not to see my princess or her dragons. She intended to dispose of me and bring my wife under her command.

“That is a shadow-binder,” Ornela said. “Kill her now. Better a man should swallow scorpions than trust in the spawn of shadows, who dare not show their face beneath the sun. It is known.”

“It is known,” the nearby Dothraki murmured.

“John?” Calye asked.

“Do as the honored one says,” I said. “Do it now.”

Calye drew her dagger, stepped up to the woman and drove the point into her chest. The masked woman died without saying a word, merely emitting a long sigh; her thoughts showed surprise that I would dare have her killed. Calye pulled off the mask, shook loose the woman’s silvery hair and grabbed a handful of it to hold her head erect so that I could see her features. The dead witch had been beautiful and looked a great deal like Daenerys, though she had been taller than my princess, with a fuller figure. Violet eyes much like those of my princess stared vacantly back at me. I nodded and Calye released her.

“And you?” I asked the next prisoner, an incredibly old and thin man, horribly wrinkled with bluish-gray skin. I caught a flash of desire from Calye; in her eyes he was young and pale-skinned, well-muscled and handsome of face. Qhono likewise saw a young and well-made man, but with Dothraki coloring and features, as did Ornela, though the features differed in her view.

“I am Pyat Pree. You and your queen would be wise to heed my counsel.”

“Never mind,” I said. “Calye, kill him now.”

“But . . . but first we need . . .”

“Now,” I repeated, as the man began a low-pitched chant. She did as I said, and as Pyat Pree died my companions saw his true nature.

“Can you explain?” I asked Ornela. Rattled, she silently shook her head.

“A warlock,” Selmy supplied. “They call themselves the Undying, probably for reasons now evident. That’s all I know of them.”

The third man, terrified of his impending death at my bed-warmer’s hands, wet himself as we approached. He was as tall as I but much thinner, with a long neck, hooked nose and bald head.

“And this one?” I asked Ornela.

“I have no idea, John Carter,” she said. “He appears to be a rich merchant of the Milk Men.”

I looked back over my shoulder at Selmy, who nodded. The prisoner’s thoughts confirmed Ornela’s guess as well. I placed a hand on Calye’s shoulder.

“Not yet,” I told her. She cleaned her dagger on the man’s silken robes, respecting her weapons as Belwas and I had taught her, and put it away.

“This would seem to be your lucky day,” I told the prisoner. “My Dothraki fear and hate magic-users.”

“We were an embassy,” he said. “Sent in peace, to make contact with the Princess Daenerys and her followers.”

“And now you are the embassy,” I said. “Who are you?”

“Xaro Xhoan Daxos, merchant prince of Qarth. I head the Thirteen.”

“You represent them,” I said. “You are but one among equals.”

“Can we not speak as civilized men?”

“As you’ve seen,” I said. “I’m not a civilized man. And I see no conference table. I assure you, I am quite comfortable.”

“I can make you rich,” he said. “Beyond what you can dream.”

He did not know my identity, and not wishing to show ignorance, would not ask. He had heard that a Westerosi knight followed Daenerys, who the Qartheen believed led a small battered group of Dothraki exiles. The warlocks had learned this from drug-induced visions.

“I can dream a great deal,” I said. “I don’t doubt you have great wealth. We’ll take it all, and that of your friends as well.”

“With what army?” he sneered. “Qarth has never fallen to an invader. And it won’t fall to you, either. But your queen, she has great desires. I can help her reach those desires.”

He wanted a dragon of his own, and had planned to flatter Daenerys with gifts and his noble person, take one or more of her dragons, and kill her when his own desires had been satisfied.

“And what desires,” I asked, “would those be?”

“That’s between myself and your queen, not for your ears.”

“Calye,” I said, “our friend Xaro doesn’t think us serious. Take his manhood.”

“No!” Xaro Xhoan Daxos screeched. “I’ll tell you whatever you wish, my lord.”

“That’s better,” I said. “Calye, leave him intact for now.”

Xaro Xhoan Daxos sagged against the lance with relief.

“Keep this one alive for now,” I told Qhono. “Bring him to my headquarters under a strong guard. Gather his belongings and bring those as well. Burn whatever the witch and the warlock had with them, burn their corpses as well and kill their mounts.”

“They had guards, Khal John. Four of them still live.”

“They are Milk Men?” I asked. He nodded.

“Kill them as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, it's the Sack of Qarth.


	48. Chapter Thirty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris battles an ice dragon

Chapter Thirty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

We returned to Howland Reed and his son at a far slower pace than that with which we had left them, as Walder needed frequent stops to rest his leg. The pain did not stop him from babbling incessantly.

“I think I knew it would come to this,” Meera said suddenly as the three of us sat on a dead tree during a break in Walder’s monologue. “Bran grew stranger and stranger. My brother too; he kept saying it was his destiny to die out here.”

“I will not allow that,” I said. “Howland Reed is my friend, though I am still angry with him.”

“Why?”

“He did not tell me the full truth about Jon Snow, and your family’s connection to him, until I was already on my way to kill the Night’s King.”

“Well, I can’t blame you for that,” Meera said. “My brother is much like him. The greensight seems to be devoid of, well, of humanity. It’s somehow connected to the weirwoods, the old gods and I guess to the Three-Eyed Raven, too. I know how it can irritate.”

I nodded, and turned to Walder sitting on my right.

“You are getting better.”

“My leg isn’t. My mind is. Like a cloud covered it for years and years.”

“How did it happen?”

“I was in the yard at Winterfell. I saw Bran Stark and the Three-Eyed Raven, but no one else did. They looked like anyone else, not like something out of a vision. I only knew it was them later. When I saw them, they were strangers to me. And then I heard Bran say, ‘hold the door,’ and heard Meera say it, too. And then it was like ‘hold the door’ took over everything.”

He stopped and breathed heavily while he massaged his jaw.

“I’m sorry. It’s like I have years and years of thoughts to get out of my mouth, but it’s not used to saying anything but . . . that word. I never want to say that word again.”

“You are free now.”

“Because you have powers. You used them.”

“I do,” I said. “I can read the thoughts of others. It is an ability of my people’s royal family.”

“Thank you.”

“What will you do now?”

“Go home to Winterfell. Lay with a woman. Let everyone see that I’m not an idiot.”

Walder continued to speak of all manner of things as we made our way south. Most of it was trivial, but I did learn a few new things about the care of horses. We found Howland Reed sitting cross-legged next to a large fire and his son lying as close to the blaze as he dared. Lord Reed looked up as we entered the clearing and took places around the fire.

“Bran Stark is dead,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “I killed him, to eliminate the Three-Eyed Raven. This is Walder. I freed him from the Raven’s mental grip.”

“It was worse than death,” Walder said, stretching his leg to warm it by the fire. Having overheard me tell Meera of my irritation with Howland Reed, he was careful not to address him as “milord,” incorrectly figuring Howland Reed would merely think him stupid. “And I looked death right in the face. Lady Dejah, Princess Dejah, saved me from that.”

“How is Jojen?” Meera asked.

“Better,” Lord Reed said. “I think he will recover fully. But we need to get him back to Castle Black as quickly as we can.”

Lord Reed forced Walder and Meera to take some hot broth he made from dried meat. I needed no forcing, and after eating I dozed for a while. When I woke, it was afternoon. Howland and Meera Reed were sitting by the small fire, talking softly of their home. Walder still slept, as did Jojen.

“We should leave this place,” I said. “I am recovered enough to carry Jojen Reed.”

As we prepared to march south, I felt odd thoughts to the North. A not-dead creature approached, but it was not one of the Others.

“Something is coming,” I said. “It is a not-dead creature.”

“It wants us dead,” Meera said. “I thought it had stopped chasing us.”

“What is it?”

“Enormous,” her brother said, speaking his first words. “Frozen. And evil. It’s slow, but extremely dangerous.”

And, I realized as I studied its approaching thoughts, rather stupid. It blundered straight ahead, eager to kill anything intelligent and living.

“It’s an ice dragon,” Walder said. I had begun to find his raspy voice annoying. “My Old Nan, who’s my grandmother, or maybe my great-grandmother, used to tell tales of them and other undead creatures form north of the Wall. They’re supposed to fly, I don’t know why this one didn’t, and they have a deadly ice-breath. At least that’s what Old Nan said.

“And then there were the ice spiders . . .”

“Go now,” I told Howland Reed, cutting off Walder. I should not have done so; the warning about the ice-dragon’s breath would soon save my life. “Take Walder and the children and flee south.”

“And you?”

“I will fight and kill this monster.”

I drew my sword.

“Azor Ahai,” Jojen Reed whispered.

“Go.”

They went. The wolf remained behind, standing by my side and growling at the approaching beast. The massive animal stood almost as tall as I.

“You may flee as well,” I said. “They need your help more than I.”

The wolf did not argue. It gave a whimpering sound and ran after the Reed family.

I could see the beast’s approach through the trees; it gave off a flickering bluish-white light somewhat like that of the Others. Like Walder, I wondered why it did not take flight. It sought the Reed children, Walder, their father and the wolf – oddly, it did not seem able to detect my presence. I considered this for a moment, and decided to hide behind a very wide tree.

John Carter would have stood in the middle of the clearing and challenged the monster to single combat. But I was not John Carter, and besides, there was no audience to see this battle. I stood waiting, my back against the cold bark of the tree, feeling the odd not-dead thoughts come closer. I had hoped to be able to leap out and stab the beast as it passed, but when it came even with my hiding place it was a short distance away. I had to run across the intervening ground and instead of slashing its throat I buried my sword deep in its side, twisted the blade and pulled it out. A powerful stream of thick blue fluid poured out of the wound; it bubbled, hissed and steamed away when it hit the snow-covered ground. When I pulled my sword free, flames broke out along its length.

The beast let out a mighty roar and raised its head, and for the first time I had a look at my foe. It was a massive creature, its body close to twice my height. The monster strode on four short, stocky and powerful-looking legs, with huge claws on its toes; one of its two large wings appeared to have been damaged and hung in tatters. It had a barrel-like body covered in what appeared to be scales, and a relatively small head on the end of a long, twisting neck. Its entire body was bluish-white, and pulsed with the same eerie glow exuded by the Others.

Its thoughts broadcast pain and surprise and, now that it could see me, hatred. The tiny head – tiny only when compared to the huge body – opened its mouth to reveal double rows of long, sharp teeth looking much like the ice-blade wielded by the Others. It reared back and let loose with a blast of extremely cold air filled with sharp ice crystals. Instinctively I raised my sword to block the ice-blast, and the flames flickering along the blade grew ever more hot and intense, dissipating the cold and melting the icy missiles in mid-air.

I stood unharmed where the creature had thought to turn me into an icy statue, and it stared at me dumbfounded. Not wishing it to recover what passed for its wits, I leapt forward with a crazed scream and stabbed it again using both hands, this time at the base of its throat. It let out a loud, long _uuuurrrrrrrrkkkkkk_ sound, and then keeled over onto its side. When I pulled my sword out of its body the flames had been extinguished though more vile fluid poured onto the ground. Surely this meant that I had achieved my purpose and the beast was dead?

I could not be sure. With strong overhand swings of my sword I hacked at its neck, careful not to let the gobbets of blue goo that erupted from the wound touch me. Soon I had severed its head and neck from the rest of its body, and both parts of the creature started to steam. Slowly it turned into blue liquid and then it was gone, leaving only a very large oily patch on the bed of leaves that had lain under the snow.

Whatever this monster had been, I had slain it. I felt a deep satisfaction, and a disappointment that no one had witnessed my heroic battle. I saw that one of the Reed children had dropped a fragment of cloth that had been wrapped around the food we took from Craster’s Keep; I used it to carefully clean my sword. I did not know what the horrible blue goo might do to even a blade of Valyrian steel.

I thought to follow the Reeds, but chose to back-track the monster to make sure that it had been alone. Not knowing how long this might take, I took my belongings with me. The beast had made its way on foot, probably unable to fly with its damaged wing, and I had no trouble tracking its progress. Eventually the daylight began to fade. I did not know if my telepathic warning senses would respond to not-dead thought impulses while I slept, but I feared that I would lose the track once darkness fell. I built a large fire and dozed in front of it, and awoke still tired but also still alive.

Howland Reed had not been a very talkative companion, and his shame over his sex fantasies had colored his thoughts. As I had told him, his imagination had not offended me and truly had been rather mild compared to what I usually detected from the men of this world. Now that I had moved out of range of any human thoughts – or any animal thoughts, either – the woods felt even eerier than usual. I missed even the musings over my breasts, and the mental images of me kissing his unclothed wife.

I continued to follow the trail of shattered trees, and on the third day I detected vague not-dead thoughts. These were less developed even than those of the monster, and not nearly as strong though they seemed to come from close by. Eventually I came to a cave sunk into the side of a small hill. The thoughts came from inside, along with a soft, pulsing blue glow.

I could detect none of the Others or their not-dead minions, but I hesitated to enter the cave. I pulled down a dry tree branch, angering its owner, and wrapped it with another food cloth. I rubbed the cloth with fat from my slab of bacon, and then struck sparks with the small stone-and-steel set that I had taken from the long-dead Brienne’s belongings. It flared into a very satisfactory torch. The smell of bacon comforted me as I approached whatever evil lay within.

The cave did not go very far into the hill, and looked to have been freshly excavated. I studied the walls, and realized that the monster had made this opening by erupting out of the hillside. It must have injured its wing breaking free of the dirt. The pulsing blue light led me to a raised platform cradling two ovoid objects which I recognized as eggs. I drew my sword and stabbed each of them. The pulsing stopped; the eggs turned black and crumbled.

I left the cave, and stood outside to clean my sword with yet another food cloth – my very last. I took a long drink from my water bottle and contemplated what had just occurred. I had found the Reed children, destroyed an ancient evil spirit, slain a gigantic evil monster and exterminated its offspring or possibly its siblings. It was, so far, a very successful quest. 

* * *

Once again, I detected nothing on my march southward along the trail of broken trees. I had thought myself lonely in a world with no other telepaths, but to feel no sentient thoughts at all disturbed me deeply. As a princess, I could not subject myself to psychiatric therapy unlike most of our people. I knew myself subject to melancholy. I could be lonely even in a crowd; now that I was truly alone, the weight pressed on me with almost physical force. I had been away from Tansy now for many days; I was not sure exactly how many. I knew that I had become dependent on her company to fend off the crushing loneliness.

Despite my dark feelings I remained on high alert; if one not-dead creature had survived my killing the Night’s King and the pulsing of the Wall, then other Others could have done so as well. Howland Reed had thought it possible, though unlikely, that the Others had been exterminated, crediting the magic powers of the Wall with the ability to eliminate all of them the same we way of Helium use photo-electric pulses to wipe out all of the small vermin in an entire building. I was not so sure.

Eventually I reached my starting spot, and spent the night a little bit south of where I had killed the ice-beast; I did not wish to sleep in the same clearing in which its oily residue still clung to the ground. In the morning I awoke and lit a fire, determined to somehow fry bacon for myself. As I wrestled with the hard slab of meat, I detected the wolf approaching. It stopped a short distance away, so I tossed it a piece of bacon.

The wolf would come no closer. It sat on its haunches and watched me slice pieces of bacon and hang them over sticks to cook over the open flame. Most of them fell into the fire, and the wolf considered that I suffered some kind of mental defect. Eventually I cooked several strips to a consistency that seemed edible without inflicting a food-borne illness upon me.

Once I had eaten and put away my things to begin the day’s trek, the wolf looked at me and then trotted slowly off to the south. I now could read in its thoughts that it wished me to follow it to the Reeds.

And so I put on my snow-overshoes and followed the wolf southward through the trees. I still could not detect any life. The wolf looked at me occasionally and sized me up for my meat potential; I am used to having my body admired but not quite in this fashion. I assured it that it was far more likely to end up as my Mid-Day Meal. I did not know how wolf meat might taste, but I had now burned all of my bacon and had almost eaten my way through the stores stolen from Craster’s Keep.

We went at a fast pace, and on the second day we overtook the Reed family. They were struggling southward, having a difficult time carrying or dragging Jojen. He was better than when they had left me, but still not recovered.

“Summer found you,” Meera Reed said as I approached.

“It looks like winter to me,” I replied.

“No, the wolf is named Summer. I sent her to find you.”

“It obeys you?”

“She was Bran’s wolf, but she seemed to follow me even before he . . . he died.”

“All of the Stark children had dire wolves,” Walder said. “They found a whole litter of them. Even Jon Snow had one. His was white.”

“It died at Castle Black,” I said. “From many wounds. I burned the body. Arya Stark thought that hers still lived and roamed the forests in the River Lands.”

“What about little Rickon?” Meera asked. “And his wolf?”

“I do not know about the wolf,” I said. “But Rickon was killed by Ramsay Bolton.”

“All of the Starks are dead,” Howland Reed said. Meera looked up sharply and met his eyes. “All of them,” he repeated. He turned to me.

“We thought you would not . . .” Howland Reed’s words trailed off.

“Return?” I finished. “I killed the great ice-monster, and then followed its trail to its lair. There I destroyed two more eggs.”

The Reeds had no more food than I, and I still could not detect any animals to provide sustenance. We ate a small amount of dry biscuit and cheese while I described my battle with the monster. I left out the part where I hid behind a tree and leapt out at the unsuspecting creature.

“An ice dragon,” Howland Reed said. “They exist in legends.”

“Old Nan said they were real,” Walder said. “But no one had seen one for thousands of years.”

“And now,” I said, “they do not exist at all.”

“You truly are Azor Ahai,” Jojen Reed whispered. “The Princess who was promised.”

“I promised to see you safe across the Wall,” I answered. “I keep my promises.”

Or at least I try to. Sometimes. I had also broken many.

Having eaten, I hoisted Jojen Reed into my arms and we continued southward. He was alarmingly light. If he nuzzled a little closer to my breast than was necessary, I did not bother to tell his father. Howland Reed’s thoughts had shifted from desire for me to his joy over recovering his children. Walder continued his prattle, but I blocked out the droning sound.

By mid-afternoon we had spotted the Wall. We reached it a day later. I was now extremely hungry.

“Which way to our ropes?” I asked Howland Reed.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “It all looks the same from this side. I think they’re to the west but . . . I can’t be sure.”

We rested at the foot of the Wall before deciding, and ate the last of our food. The wolf began to look tastier to me; it sidled farther away from where I sat cross-legged on a large flat rock.

As I prepared to suggest that we head west, I detected thoughts in the air above. As I watched, a small black speck descended and grew larger. It landed on the rock next to me, and now the wolf rose and prepared to advance despite my presence. I glared at it and it sat back down.

“Come!” said Tansy’s raven.

“Which way?” I asked.

It flew a short distance to the west and perched on another rock.

“Come!”

We followed the bird’s advice and reached the dangling ropes with the sun still high enough to allow climbing. The raven flew away, I assumed to summon Tansy and Maege to the top of the Wall. And indeed, they were waiting when I reached the top bearing Jojen Reed slung over my shoulder and tied in place. I did not know how they had arrived, but I was very happy to see them.

Maege took the boy from me, and Tansy clasped me in a tight hug.

“You’re back!” Tansy said. “And see, I’m still alive!”

“I am glad.”

“You’ve had adventures, haven’t you?”

“I fought and killed an ice dragon.”

“Then you must be hungry.”

She thrust a leather bag filled with fresh biscuits, cheese and meat into my hands. In a few moments, I had eaten it all. Then she gave me a skin filled with ale. I drank it all in a single long pull.

“You baked?”

“No,” Tansy said, “Maege did. She can do anything.”

“How did you know that I would be hungry?”

“You’re always hungry. How did you kill an ice dragon? Do they really exist?”

“With my sword, and they do no longer. I stabbed its eggs as well. I must retrieve the Reed girl and Walder while there is still daylight.”

“You’ll tell me about the ice dragon later.”

“Of course.”

When I reached the bottom again, Meera Reed was arguing with her father.

“We can’t leave her here. She saved our lives!” The girl, who had been so stoic during our march and apparently had been previously as well, now was nearly in tears.

“I cannot carry a beast that large,” I said. “Not while climbing. Perhaps not while walking.”

I truly did not know this to be true, but knew such a task would strain even my enhanced strength and that of the ropes. And if truth be told, I did not wish to risk my life for the dire wolf. The wolf looked at me and whimpered.

“Save her, Princess,” Meera begged. “Please save her.”

I looked at the ropes.

“I will carry Meera Reed to the top, as I did Jojen, and then I will take Walder. Howland Reed will wait here at the bottom. When I reach the top, I will drop the rope back down. Howland Reed will secure one rope to the wolf, and then climb to the top along the other rope. Then all of us will try to pull the wolf to the top.”

Lord Reed nodded.

“Thank you, Princess,” the girl said.

“I do not promise that this will work,” I cautioned. “There are only two more of us at the top, and I am very tired already. We may not be able to lift the wolf all the way. Or it could smash into the ice. This is a dangerous ascent.”

“She’ll starve here if we don’t try something.”

“The winch,” Lord Reed suddenly said.

“The what?” I asked.

“The large wheel at the top of the broken elevator. We can attach the rope to it and turn the winch.”

I climbed the Wall again, this time carrying the girl, and descended once more. I was now quite tired, despite having eaten the food Tansy gave me. Walder proved considerably heavier than both Reed children combined.

“Let me climb,” he said. “You can climb alongside and help me.”

“You are injured.”

“My leg. Not my arms.”

In the lighter gravity of Barsoom, he might have been correct. But not here.

“You must climb with your legs as well as your arms.”

“I have one good leg.”

“What happened to the other?” I only now thought to ask.

“Stabbed with something,” he said, “I didn’t see what. Meera cleaned it and it hasn’t festered.”

“The bone is not injured?”

“I don’t think so.”

I looked at Howland Reed.

“We must do something,” he said. “Just how strong are you?”

“Very,” I said. “But I am also very tired. We could both fall if I try to carry Walder.”

“We only have the two ropes,” he said. “Even if the raven could tell Lady Mormont and Lady Tansy, there’s not another for them to drop.”

“I can’t stay down here,” Walder said. “And you can’t carry me. I have to climb on one leg.”

And so I climbed alongside Walder, calming his panic, showing him how to use the rope to assist him, and pulling him over difficult spots. I crawled over the edge of the Wall even more deeply exhausted than when I had begun the trek, but my task had only just begun.

I dropped the rope as planned. Lord Reed tied up the wolf, who stood still and did not object, and then climbed as well. I slumped against the icy parapet while I drank more ale and Tansy rubbed my shoulders like I was a pit fighter between bouts.

“Are you well?” I asked when Lord Reed clambered over the edge.

“Very tired,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“I will have to be. Can you attach the rope to the winch?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Can your sister take my daughter down to the castle? She needs warmth.”

“I want to see Summer safe,” Meera said.

“Dejah will make things right,” Tansy said. “I’m Tansy, her sister. Come with me.”

She led the girl to the giant stairs while I stretched and looked down at the wolf, who stared up at me and broadcast accusing thoughts in my direction. When Lord Reed called, I came over and saw that he had attached the rope to the winch, and a long handle to help move it.

“We press here,” he said, “turn the winch, and it rolls the rope right up.”

“I can do this,” I said. “Please watch the rope and the wolf.”

I began to push the handle and the wheel turned with excruciating slowness. I bent my shoulder into it and steadily ground my feet forward one at a time. Slowly, ever so slowly, the wheel turned. I pushed and pushed, putting all of my enhanced strength into the effort. I hoped that the handle would not snap.

Walder stood behind one of the other handles and pushed it as best he could with one sound leg. It did not help very much, but made him feel better to contribute. At least he did not speak while he worked.

Tansy came back to the top of the Wall well after nightfall, bearing a hot drink called tea – now only warm after her long climb up the stairs – and some more biscuits with the smoked meat of a pig’s ass, known as “ham.” I ate and drank while Lord Reed explained that the wolf now dangled about one-third of the way up the Wall. I could not stop now; the wolf would freeze if we left it overnight, and would be killed if it fell. Tansy, who seemingly thought of everything, had found some thick leather work gloves that helped protect my hands as I shoved the winch around and around.

I had hoped that Lord Reed would report that the wolf had climbed much higher. I returned to the work, making miniscule progress. Yet the rope continued to thicken around the barrel of the winch. I lost track of time, dreaming of Barsoom and of my sister Thuvia, trying to ignore the burning pain in my shoulders. Tansy brought me more food and drink at least three more times.

Finally Lord Reed came and laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Princess,” he said, shaking me. “Princess, come back. It’s done.”

I shook my head. I had lost track of this plane of reality. Walder had long since staggered down the stairs to Castle Black.

“What is it?”

“You pulled the dire wolf over the edge.”

“Does it live?”

“Barely.”

“It will have to walk down the stairs itself,” I said. “I am not sure that I can walk down the stairs myself.”

Somehow I did, with the wolf staggering down them as well and Lord Reed walking between us to keep us from falling. My sister met us on her way up yet again with hot food and drink. I sat on a stair and ate, and gave some to the wolf. I still did not like this beast, but I could feel its intense hunger.

Lord Reed led the wolf to the stables; it followed him without complaint. Tansy led me to the commander’s chamber, where I fell face-first onto the bed and was asleep before she could even pull off my boots.

* * *

Apparently I slept through the day that followed and awoke early the next morning, barely able to move. Tansy straddled me as I lay face-down on the bed and kneaded the muscles of my back and shoulders, and had somewhere found a bathtub and filled it with hot water.

I love my sister.

Once I had bathed and eaten, Tansy took me to see what she and Maege had accomplished during my adventure. I noted that she now referred to our surrogate mother as “Maege” rather than “Lady Mormont.” Apparently they had got on well. This pleased me very much.

And the two of them had indeed accomplished a great deal, moving all of the library’s books into the stone tower. This store of knowledge now lay safely above ground and, assuming that the Wall did not experience a sudden flash melting as sometimes happened in the polar regions of Barsoom, should be safe for the time being. Until humans found them and visited wanton destruction upon the precious records of their own civilization, as is their way whatever their planet of origin.

My physiological enhancements apparently included powers of rapid recovery; I felt some soreness in my back and shoulders but seemed fully capable of functioning.

“That was a wonderful thing you did,” Tansy said as we walked across the castle courtyard. “Saving that wolf.”

“I also killed an ice dragon.”

“Right. Meera is really attached to the wolf, you know. She credits it with saving their lives. And I guess it’s her last connection to her friend Bran.”

“I also saved their lives, by killing the ice dragon.”

“You did. But you didn’t have to put out so much effort to save an animal. No one would have blamed you for being too tired after climbing the Wall thrice, helping Walder or carrying one of the Reed children each time.”

I shook my head, a gesture these people shared with mine. We entered the large common room where the Night’s Watch had eaten their meals. Lord Reed had prepared food for all of us, a thick savory stew made of some sort of meat with many vegetables. As I sat, he placed a very large wooden bowl in front of me filled with the stew, a large wooden spoon and a wooden plate with fresh biscuits.

I reached for the bowl to drink down the meal, but Tansy gently placed her hand on my elbow, below the level of the table top where no one else could see, and stopped me.

“Princess, thank you so much,” Meera Reed said as I dug into the stew with the heavy spoon like a proper princess of this world. “Summer means so much to me. She saved us, you know.”

I stopped spooning up my stew; on Barsoom the very idea of speaking with food in one’s mouth is repulsive. Even the green, savage Warhoon do not commit such barbarities. I swallowed and resolved to make one final attempt to call attention to my dragon-slaying.

“I am sure that the wolf helped you past many dangers,” I said, “but it would have had no chance against the ice dragon.”

“I’m sure she would have tried. Father said you were exhausted after carrying us each up the side of the Wall, yet you labored late into the night turning the winch to bring Summer to the top. You are a real hero to me.”

I gave up.

“Thank you,” I said. “I am glad that I could help rescue your wolf. But your father remained behind to secure it to the rope. I merely provided brute strength.”

“How,” Meera asked, “did you get to be so enormously strong?”

“As a princess I was bred for it,” I said, deploying my standard answer for everyone outside the Mormont family. Unlike most who heard me say so, Meera Reed fully believed me.

The girl’s thoughts showed genuine, deep gratitude for my hauling the wolf up the Wall, which her father had described to her in detail. Her brother stole glances at my breasts, and those of Tansy, when he thought no one saw. Their father tried hard to keep his emotions in check; he had not expected to see his children alive again despite his “green dreams” and credited me for overturning their fate. Walder for once remained silent and watched Tansy’s hands rather than her breasts, mimicking her table manners in his determination to gain status as a civilized being and not a semi-human.

None of them gave a thought to my epic battle with the ice dragon. Perhaps I had overstated the significance of the fight in my mind; after all, the beast had died without truly posing a threat to my life. And it left no corpse.

“You are better now?” I asked Jojen Reed.

“I feel more myself,” he answered, very solemnly. He said most things in a solemn tone; his thoughts revealed that he believed it to add weight to his words. “I’m still weak in the arms and legs, but I have an appetite again.”

“We will travel soon?” I asked his father.

Howland Reed turned to Maege.

“Are we ready?” he asked her.

“Whenever you wish,” she answered. “The horses are in good condition, we have plenty of food, the road should still be frozen enough for the sledge.

“It’s hard to say for sure, but I do think the weather’s getting warmer. We should leave before that frost turns to mud. We sent ravens but I would like to show my daughters that I still live.”

She put a large hand on the back of Tansy’s neck and shook her slightly.

“My daughters-by-birth, that is. I’ve been getting to know this new daughter, and hope to see more of the other.”

I liked being a daughter of House Mormont. I could tell that my sister did as well.

“Where will you go?” I asked her.

“To Winterfell,” she said. “My duties are not over. We’ll have to convene a council of the lords of the North and decide how to rule the land. With the Starks all dead,” she looked sideways at Howland Reed, but did not reveal his secret, “we have to choose a new ruling family.”

“And we have to reward our savior,” Lord Reed added. “All Westeros is in your debt, Princess, but the North most of all. And not only House Reed.”

“I put my sword through the heart of the beloved Lady of Winterfell,” I said. “Many will dislike me. I also killed her brother. I suppose no one will object that I killed Jon Snow.”

I remained somewhat bitter that Howland Reed had used me as an assassin. Jon Snow’s death had been necessary, as Lord Reed had said, but it had also been highly convenient for him.

“Where will you go, Princess?” Meera Reed interjected.

“I think I have spent enough time seeking my husband,” I said. “I would like to spend some time with my sister in our own place, perhaps one of the abandoned castles or farms. I have certainly left a trail that John Carter can follow, if he is indeed in these lands. Would the lords object?”

“You two are always welcome on Bear Island,” Maege said. “It would please me if you thought of it as your home.”

“It is an island?” I asked. “Reached by ship?”

“That’s right, usually from Deepwood Motte.”

“I do not do well on ships.”

“It’s a short voyage, never out of sight of land.”

“You survived aboard _Sweet Cersei_ ,” Tansy pointed out helpfully.

“I would sail anywhere to save my sister,” I said. “And that was in a calm and quiet harbor, as Ser Davos made clear at the time. Still I vomited six times and wished for death.”

“You have another new sister to meet,” Maege teased. “We can wait for good weather, as best we can. Storms come down fast from the Bay of Ice.”

Maege had been so good to me, and to Tansy, that I did not wish to disappoint her. And I did wish to see Lyra, Alysane and Jorelle again. I missed Lyra already.

“I will go to Bear Island.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris proves that she has many skills.


	49. Chapter Thirty-Five (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tansy receives orgasm, and Lyra receives a sword, both from the hands of Dejah Thoris.

Chapter Thirty-Five (Dejah Thoris)

I awakened late in the night to find my sister twitching and moaning softly. She lay on her left side and I lay nestled behind her. As usual, both of us were unclothed. I put my right hand on her hip and asked softly, “Are you well?”

She suddenly stopped moving and fell silent.

“I . . . yes. Everything’s fine. I was dreaming. Go back to sleep.”

I prepared to accept her word, but as I looked downward I saw that her right hand lay between her legs.

“You are attempting to receive orgasm?”

She sighed.

“Yes. You’re supposed to politely pretend that you didn’t see.”

I knew from my early days on this planet, when I did not yet screen out the mundane thoughts of most people, that many pleasured themselves with their hands when alone. Both men and women did so, and both men and women considered it shameful to be found indulging in this act despite its near-universal practice.

Tansy had received orgasm from me some months earlier; she and I engaged in sex with Queen Cersei while disguised as courtesans. Moments later, I murdered Cersei with an odd eating utensil known as a spork. We of Barsoom cannot, as far as I know, receive orgasm and the biology of it fascinated me. I also desperately wished to experience it myself. Tansy had told me after the encounter with Cersei that we could not become lovers until more time had passed and our interlude with the queen no longer colored our emotions; perhaps she would feel differently now.

While I could read the thoughts of most people of this planet, I could not easily do so with Tansy’s. But I knew that, like my adoptive sisters, while she loved me she often considered me silly and naïve. I have lived for 441 of my planet’s years, the equivalent of almost 800 years here as best as I can determine. I have had many lovers over that time, both male and female.

I did not capture John Carter’s heart simply through my beauty and my supposedly impeccable character. As a princess, I have been well-trained in the arts of seduction. I decided the time had come to put these arts to use.

“Let me help you,” I said softly into her ear. I shifted to press my breasts into her bare back, so she could feel the nipples harden. I trailed the fingers of my right hand down the outside of her right arm and kissed her beneath her ear, hoping she was as sensitive there as I.

She moaned softly.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“You don’t know how.”

“I have many skills.”

She rolled onto her back, and I propped my left elbow underneath me to raise my breasts to her face, cradling her neck on my forearm. She guided my hand between her legs, my middle finger into her sex receptacle. She pressed it downward onto a nub underneath the folds of flesh that covered the organ.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Rub right there.”

I leaned over her and kissed her, as I had longed to do again through all the long months since I had done so in Cersei’s bedchamber. I let my tongue extend and dance along hers, all the while looking into her deep blue eyes and stroking her pleasure center. She was so beautiful. I had missed her so much while I ventured north of the Wall. I wished that she could feel my thoughts, could feel how much I loved her.

As she grew excited, her thoughts became easier to read, and I could use them to judge what she liked and where she liked it. I inserted my finger deeper, where it became wet, and dragged it back over the nub, which she found exciting. She kissed my breasts, then began breathing harder and simply pressed her face between them as her body began to shudder. I felt her orgasm in her mind, even more exhilarating than Cersei’s powerful climax had been. And then, briefly, her thoughts ceased completely.

“Oh gods,” she whispered, flopping onto her back. “Why did I make you wait to do that?”

Unsure if I could speak clearly after feeling her receive orgasm, I extended my tongue again and ran it over the nipple of her right breast.

“Next time,” I said, letting my voice drop into a husky tone, “I will use my tongue instead.”

She apparently had no answer for that, and I curled back into my usual sleeping position, this time leaving my hand curled around her right breast. I could feel a very broad smile on my face. Helping my sister receive orgasm pleased me greatly; I had seduced a seductress and I enjoyed displaying a talent that had nothing to do with killing people. 

* * *

We left Castle Black on the following morning, with Maege and Howland Reed driving the sledge while Walder and the Reed children rode in the furs inside. Maege, Tansy and I had laid the gold of the Night’s Watch in wooden cases along the floor of the sledge, under the furs. Howland Reed knew of our looting, but said nothing of it. Tansy and I tacked up two of our spare horses and rode them.

This time, I enjoyed the journey. On our wild ride out of Winterfell the skies had been unnaturally dark and I had paid little attention to the lands through which we passed. I had turned my focus only on the Night’s King, his queen and their not-dead minions. The skies had turned blue again, with a few puffy white clouds, and I had finally started to grow used to this strange color.

Tansy did not mention our brief sexual encounter, and I decided not to bring it up, either. If she wanted to do so again, she would ask. My people are far less eager for sex than those of this planet. I had enjoyed the feel of her lips and tongue on my breasts, but now I wondered about orgasm. Could I receive it through another’s thoughts? I would have to think on this, and perhaps experiment. Unexpectedly, I thought of Lyra Mormont. I was not the only one thinking of sex.

“Princess,” Walder asked as he and I fed the horses during a break. “I know you can read my thoughts, including the ones no one should ever know.”

“I do not do so intentionally,” I said. “You are curious about sex.”

“Yes. I think about it all the time, and did even when the Raven had my mind under a cloud. And I think I know how it’s done. People thought I was stupid since I only said that one word, and with my mind all clouded, maybe I was. Some of them would couple right in front of me like I wasn’t even there, like Theon with a serving maid, in the stables.”

“Walder,” I reminded him. I did not know who this Theon person might be, but given the distaste in Walder’s thoughts he seemed like someone who needed killing.

“Right. Sorry. Now I know I can’t ask a proper lady or even a serving maid to lay with me. Not as directly as I want to. As I need to. I don’t have time to learn how to convince a woman, and I’d never force someone against their will. Princess, I need a whore. I heard men talk about whores. Theon couldn’t stop talking about them. How do you get a whore?”

“I suspect it is very simple,” I said. “You go to a brothel, and you tell whoever answers the door that you have money and wish to spend it to obtain sex with a whore.”

“Money?”

“Yes. Surely you know about money.”

“Of course I do. But how do I get money?”

“You work, and are paid.”

“Paid,” he said, slowly. “You mean the people I work for, they give me money for the work.”

“Exactly so.”

For once, he was silent.

“The Starks did not pay you?”

“No,” he said. “Maybe they paid Old Nan, but not me. I suppose they thought I was too stupid to notice. And I never noticed, so maybe they were right.”

“When we reach Winterfell,” I said. “I have money in my rooms at the castle, and I will give you enough to pay for a whore. We will speak with whoever is in charge of the castle now that Sansa is dead, and see that you are paid for your work so that you may do so again.”

“Thank you, Princess,” he said. “You’re a wonderful woman. But you said Sansa is dead?”

“Yes,” I said. “She was taken by the Night’s King, and I killed her.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. She was a pretty girl.”

“She was,” I agreed. “But she was already dead.”

“Like the Others.”

“Yes.”

“Is there anyone left? From my old life?”

“I do not know,” I said. “Jeyne Poole is at Winterfell. I fear that Beth Cassel is dead.”

“Jeyne could be mean sometimes,” he said. “Beth was so pretty, and so nice. She sang so sweetly. I wish she had been the one to live. Theon raped her. I saw it happen. She screamed and screamed until he hit her. I didn’t want to but his men made me watch. It was awful.

“I didn’t know what ‘rape’ meant until that day. I wish you’d been there, to protect her.”

“Many terrible things happened to Jeyne as well,” I said, even as I decided that I would kill this Theon person should I ever meet him. “It has made her very quiet.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t think and say things I know nothing about.”

“You have a new life now. You can be whatever you want to be.”

“A stable boy who talks too much,” he said. “That’s all I want to be. One who has a woman sometimes.”

* * *

As we rode on, I realized that I had not understood the immense span we had covered in our pursuit of Jon Snow. My mind had been ready for battle, and other events passed as though I remained in a dream state. When we had traveled for eight days, we still had only covered half of the distance to Winterfell as we reached the upper end of a long lake called, in the poetic ways of this land, “Long Lake.” The road followed an embankment along the lake, and I spotted three white tents on the shore. I probed for thoughts, and was rewarded with the familiar impulses of my sisters Lyra and Jory, along with Ser Davos Seaworth and four Mormont soldiers including my friend Trisha. They had even brought my horses. I urged my borrowed mount forward; Tansy followed cautiously, unsure what I had detected.

Our friends had set up their camp on the shore of the lake, atop a field of very small stones. Trisha spotted me and waved, calling to my sisters and Ser Davos. When I drew close, I leapt off the horse and ran to Lyra, sweeping her into my arms. I almost kissed her, but realized at the last moment that she might not welcome such a display of affection. Instead I looked into her eyes. Her beautiful brown-and-gold eyes. I was glad they were not bright blue.

“I am alive,” I said, keeping my arms wrapped around my adoptive sister. She rested easily in them, stroking my shoulders with her own hands.

“I can see that. And you killed the Night’s King.”

“I did,” I said. “And Sansa as well.”

“She was already dead?”

“Yes, but under the Night’s King’s control. She wished to kill Tansy.”

“Then it’s a good thing you killed her first.”

Both Jory and Tansy had joined us. I released Lyra so that I could embrace my little sister and to allow Lyra to greet Tansy. Jory laid her head on my shoulder, saying nothing for a long moment before looking up at me.

“My mother?” she asked. “Lord Reed?”

“All safe, not far behind us. And Lord Reed’s children as well.”

“We had a raven. But it didn’t seem real. I’m so relieved you’re back.”

“So am I.”

“Don’t leave me again.”

“I will not,” I promised. “Tansy and I will come to Bear Island.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around my neck and released a few tears.

“That’s even better news.”

Ser Davos next took my hand and kissed it, as the sledge ground to a halt behind us. Trisha stood awkwardly behind him, and I took her hand and pulled her into an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into my ear.

“Do not be,” I whispered back, and kissed her cheek. “I am glad you are here.”

The soldiers had built a fire on the shore and we sat around it while sharing roasted meat and ale. Lord Reed told of my fight with the Night’s King and our trek beyond the Wall to rescue his children.

“I also killed an ice dragon,” I added. “I stabbed it in the neck with my sword. It said _urk_ and it died.”

“And you saved that wolf,” Jory said, looking at the dire wolf sitting on its haunches some distance away. “That was a heroic act.”

“What will you do now, Princess?” Ser Davos asked.

“My sister and I will go to Bear Island with our adoptive sisters.”

Jory reached over and squeezed my knee, smiling broadly. Lyra grabbed Tansy’s upper arm and kissed her cheek.

“That appears to be a welcome decision,” the Onion Knight said. “I wonder if I might ask that you delay it.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Yes, Davos,” Maege added. “What do you wish of my daughter?”

“I am sorry,” Ser Davos said. “But I feel it important. By Lord Reed’s telling, many of the Others have been destroyed. We do not know if this includes all of them. We do not know how vast the destruction across the North might be. We only know that Winterfell has survived, and that the weather is improving.

“We need to know more. I would ask Princess Dejah to lead a ranging across the North, to seek any Others who might still be on the prowl and determine the status of key castles and holdfasts.”

“To see if any still live,” I said.

“Well, yes.”

“I understand,” I said. “We must continue to be vigilant. Be sure to burn the dead.”

“It’s the Northern way,” Davos said. “They burn the dead, collect the bones and then inter them in crypts for the nobles, in the ground for all else. The dead won’t come bursting out of the Winterfell crypts.”

I had known that, having seen the burned remnants of bones in the crypts I had opened, but had forgotten. Even a drunken storyteller should know such things, but here I tell my own story, not that of the game of thrones.

“I shall undertake the patrol,” I told Davos.

“Thank you. I will assemble our best huntsmen and trackers, and ask Tormund for some of his as well.”

“That is not necessary,” I said. “I will go alone, with my sisters, if Maege gives leave.”

“Of course I do,” she said. “You’re all women grown.”

“You’re sure?” Ser Davos asked. I knew he worried about me, and even more for Tansy. “It could be dangerous.”

“Surely no more than the Night’s King,” I said. “But I would ask some assistance.”

“Of course.”

“Can you supply a train of wagons, with drivers and a few guards, and a ship, to move the library of Castle Black to Bear Island?”

“Not Winterfell?”

“Winterfell has burned once,” I said. “Repairs are not complete. And its ownership is now in dispute.”

“Aye, you would be right. Lord Reed?”

“It seems wise to me. I believe Lady Mormont has already agreed to this with Lady Tanith.”

“Tansy,” my sister said. “And yes.”

“I can arrange that,” Ser Davos said. “I will need Lord Glover’s assistance with the ship but I’m sure he’ll give it.”

“You are friends now?” I asked.

“He sent a raven to White Harbor asking after his brother, and had a response just as we left. I now can do no wrong.”

“I need,” I said, “one more favor from you.”

“Anything, Princess. You have but to ask.”

“You have met Walder, the man I . . . rescued,” I said, unwilling to reveal my mental abilities. “He suffered a brain injury as a very young man, and recovered north of the Wall.”

“We’ve spoken,” Davos said. “He was born in Winterfell, and shall always have a place there.”

“Thank you,” I said, “But there is more. While injured, he could not engage in sex with a woman. He very much wishes to, and I promised to give him money for a whore. If you could do so and see that he finds the brothel, I would be grateful.”

Davos spat out his ale.

“You . . . want me to take him to a whorehouse?”

“Yes, please.”

Maege smiled.

“You did say she could ask anything, Davos.”

“So I did,” the Onion Knight said. “And so I shall.”

“Thank you,” I said. “When do you wish us to leave?”

“As soon,” he said, “as you can be ready.”

“We can leave in the morning.”

“First,” Maege said. “We have business to attend.” 

* * *

Late that night, under clear skies, the Mormont soldiers built the fire into a very large blaze. The soldiers stood to either side holding torches, while Maege and I took places in front of the fire. Our friends and family stood before us, curious as to our intentions.

I looked up, seeing the red star above, then spoke.

“In my lands, when one is victorious in battle, one takes the property of the vanquished.”

I held the sword Longclaw in both hands, wrapped in a cloth I had found in Castle Black.

“And no greater gift is given than that of a fine weapon. We consider such a gift a symbol of love and loyalty. They are given between husband and wife. Between parent and child. Between brothers.”

I paused for dramatic effect.

“And between sisters. Lyra, join us here.”

Confused, she stepped forward and stood facing me.

“I took this sword from the Night’s King. It is as fine a blade as I have ever held. And I wish it to be yours.”

Trembling, she held out her hands. I unwrapped the sword and placed it in them. She pulled it slightly out of its scabbard, and gasped.

“Longclaw,” she whispered.

Her knees wobbled, but she remained standing. She looked at me, then at her mother.

“I’m . . . I’m not . . .”

“You are,” Maege said. “With Dacey gone, you are the warrior of our House now. This sword was meant for your hands. Dejah has restored it to House Mormont.”

The Mormont soldiers began cheering wildly. Jory raced forward to hug Lyra, and as Maege predicted, all of the Mormont women cried, Trisha, Tansy and I included.

Later, we sat around the fire as it burned into a bed of red coals and Maege told the story of the sword Longclaw, starting five hundred years previously. Many noble houses in Westeros purchased Valyrian steel swords as the realm of the makers had not yet been destroyed. In those days the Mormonts lived in the highlands to the north-west of where we now gathered, on lands even poorer than those of Bear Island. They lacked the resources to compete in the game of prestige, and the Mormont Way prevented simply forcing their subjects to provide sufficient funds.

The Mormont clan had never produced noble knights in any great number, but had always known fierce fighters. Longclaw had been won as a prize of war, gifted to a Mormont leader along with Bear Island following acts of heroism by the Mormonts during some ancient battle in which they had fought alongside the Starks. I smiled into my cup of wine as Maege told of how the details had been forgotten as the battle had taken place so long ago; I would have already fought in a hundred battles and produced the eggs of a hundred children when the Mormonts were securing their sword and their island.

Bear Island and Longclaw, therefore, went together in the lore of the Mormont family. Its return held great emotional value to my new family, and raised a weighty question in my mind. It blurted forth before I could stop it.

“How could the Old Bear give away such an heirloom?”

Maege sighed, and stared into the fire for a few moments.

“You came to this family by choice,” she finally said. “You didn’t have to. You knew I’d taken a liking to your sister and wished she had been my daughter, and that I wanted you to fight for Sansa, and thus for us. You could have walked away after you fought Corbray, and no one would have questioned you.”

“I love my new family.”

“I know you do, and you know that we love you as well. But not every Mormont has felt themselves blessed to be so. We’re a family of strong women, and that goes back many generations. It’s carved right on our gates.”

She paused again, drinking more of the wine Davos had brought from Winterfell.

“As much as we love being Mormont women, strong-willed, fierce and independent, it’s hard to be a Mormont man. The ways, the stories of this land make it clear that men and women cannot be strong together. For one to be strong, the other must be weak.”

“That is not true,” I said.

“Of course it’s not,” Maege agreed. “But far too many, man and woman both, believe it so. And that belief makes it real. At least it did for my brother, and his son. You chose to be a Mormont, Dejah. They wished not to be.”

She held up her wooden cup toward the Onion Knight, who passed a skin bag of wine to her. She filled it, using the pause to gather her thoughts, and continued.

“Jeor, my brother, was much older than my sister and I. When his son Jorah came of age, my brother saw his chance to escape the island of women. He took the black, heading to a place where no women would trouble him.”

“Took the black?” I asked.

“Joined the Night’s Watch,” Lyra explained. “From their black cloaks.”

“I was eight-and-ten when he left, with one child, Dacey. I had refused to marry, following the old tradition of House Mormont that our father favored. It angered my brother, who resisted Father’s ways and felt the Mormonts should become respectable like other houses. He sent his son Jorah to train as a knight, which meant converting to the Faith of the Seven, and married him to a Glover girl. She died and Jorah replaced her with a Southron beauty, who hated Bear Island and all the rest of us as well.

“Jorah fled when Ned Stark condemned him for slaving. Ned knew of other crimes as well, that we’ll not speak of here, but kept our House’s secrets.”

She referred to the illicit trade between the Mormonts and the wildlings.

“Jorah left Longclaw behind when he departed for Essos, telling me to return it to his father. I did so, and Jeor seemed not to care. He said Jorah was dead to him; I think he wanted to leave Bear Island and the Mormonts behind him as well. As far as I know Jeor left the sword in his quarters. His gift of Longclaw to Jon Snow surprises me not, though it wounded me deeply when I heard of it.

“You did more than restore our family’s sword, Dejah. You returned some of our honor, and our self-respect. You did a great service for House Mormont.”

“I only wished,” I said, “to gift my sister a sword.”

“You didn’t know?” Lyra asked.

“I knew it to be a very fine blade,” I said. “By our laws, it became mine to dispose as I would when I killed Jon Snow in single combat. You are now my sister, and I thought of giving it to you as soon as my wits recovered from the excitement of battle. I asked permission of Maege, and she told me a little of the sword’s story. Until then I had not thought of the sword’s origin.”

She moved from where she sat next to Maege to squeeze between Jory and I.

“Thank you,” she said very softly. “You’ve made us all Mormonts again.” 

* * *

I slept under the stars that night, surrounded by my sisters. I believed it to be less cold than before my fight with the Night’s King, but I could not tell for sure. In the morning Meera Reed and I helped Trisha and another soldier find and cut firewood while the others cooked bacon and fried slices of potato. The wolf followed Meera; it appeared to know of her Stark heritage. Afterwards we joined our friends for First Meal.

“What will you do now?” I asked Maege.

“I’ll return to Winterfell with Ser Davos and Lord Reed. Alysane will return to Bear Island with most of our troops, pay them off and send them home. We’ll call the other surviving lords of the North to Winterfell and begin discussions of the land’s future.”

“That will not be a simple thing,” Ser Davos said. “Several may wish to replace the Starks.”

“What is your preference?” I asked.

“I am not of the North,” he said. “It’s not my place to say.”

“Nor is it mine.”

“And that is why I am curious for your opinion,” the Onion Knight said. “You’ve no stake yourself.”

He looked to Maege and Howland Reed; both nodded.

“Were it solely up to me,” Ser Davos said, “I would ask you to assume the throne as Queen in the North.”

“I am honored by your trust,” I said. “But I am not of these lands. I will fight to protect my sisters and my new family, but I do not wish to rule here.”

“What would you suggest?” Howland Reed asked.

“Every house is damaged,” I said. “Some have been eliminated completely. No one is strong enough to seize and hold power, is that not correct?”

Lord Reed pondered for a moment.

“Perhaps the Manderlys, who rule White Harbor, though I suspect they lost many men fighting the Boltons.”

“Or the Reeds,” Maege added.

“I have no wish to leave the wetlands,” he said. “And the rest of the North is almost as foreign to us as it is to the Princess.”

“So,” I asked, “I am correct?”

“More than likely.”

“I have a suggestion,” I said. “It is only a suggestion. I do not wish to interfere or play the game of thrones.”

“Understood,” Lord Reed said.

“Form a council to rule, made up of the leading remaining lords or their representatives, to meet at Winterfell. Rebuild Moat Cailin so that it cannot be destroyed by a single angry woman and her sister, and garrison it with full-time soldiers paid by this council. Let the South know that you have withdrawn from the game of thrones and will not trouble them if they do not trouble you.”

“Does this peace include Walder Frey?” Maege asked, on the verge of anger.

“No,” I said. “They murdered the sister I never knew. We will kill him and his entire family, and destroy his castle. I will keep my promise to you.”

My calm tone as I discussed mass murder shocked Ser Davos.

“Lady Mormont,” he said. “I have seen the princess in full anger. She’s a gentle daydreamer for the most part but when enraged she is completely capable of doing exactly what she says. Is that really your wish?”

“It is,” she said. “And that of all my daughters.”

Lyra and Jory nodded. Tansy pretended to be very interested in her bacon. Lord Reed cleared his throat and moved the discussion back to the previous path.

“Other than exterminating the Freys, Princess, your thoughts track closely to mine. I know that Lady Mormont agrees, for we discussed it on the ride here, and I believe Lord Glover will assent as well. As for the rest of the lords, we will summon them and present the case. They’re tired of war, and I believe they hold little desire for more of the game.

“We’ll hold Winterfell in trust for the whole of the North. You’re welcome to abide there if you’d like. I hope to convince Ser Davos to summon his family and remain as castellan.”

“Castellan?”

“In charge of the castle’s everyday affairs.”

“I would like that,” I said. “As for myself, I plan to join my new Mormont family on Bear Island.”

Howland Reed set down his plate of food, picked up his sword and scabbard, and began to wrap them in a piece of deerskin.

“I have seen more of your path here, Princess,” he said. “Your time in Westeros apparently is not done. I see two women bearing Valyrian steel by your side, one of whom I believe to be young Lady Mormont. It appears you will need this sword more than I.”

“It was this sword?” I asked. “I had thought it would become your house’s sword.”

“I am not sure, only that this sword has further bearing on your destiny,” he said. “You have changed my house’s destiny. I have a son once more. But he is no swordsman; we crannog people prefer the frog-spear or the bow.”

“I will gift this sword to a woman fighter?”

“That’s my belief,” he said. “One who looks a great deal like young Lady Mormont but lighter of hair. And she will aid you in a time of great need.”

“When did you see this?”

“The dreams began again on our ride south. They do that. Sometimes they’re gone for months at a time, and then suddenly every time I close my eyes the greensight is there.”

“Your sight was correct,” I said, “including the sacrifice of a beautiful red-haired woman. I will not doubt it again.”

I accepted the sword, and went to pack it away strapped across the top of my saddlebags as it would not fit within them. As I worked, I scanned the thoughts of Jojen Reed, who seemed relieved that the burden of such a sword had been taken from him. He had intended to die north of the Wall and now seemed confused to have no mystical plan for the rest of his life. But he did not wish to be a warrior.

Trisha joined me to pack her own horse’s saddlebags. She wished to return to her home, but felt a duty to remain by Jory’s side.

“Jory will be safe with me,” I said. “You know that I would die to protect her, the same as you would.”

“I do,” she said. “I’ve just been her guardian so long that it feels odd to leave without her.”

“Do not feel so much guilt,” I said. “You miss your home.”

“It’s been a long time,” she said. “And . . . you can see my thoughts. You know. When you left Winterfell. I was not at my best.”

“I wished to take my sister and flee,” I said. “I almost did so.”

“Lady Tansy was almost killed in my place.”

“But she was not,” I said. “Had you been there, you would have died. At my hand, to bring flame to my sword.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I can feel it.”

“I could not bear to live with that,” I said. “You are my friend. I would fight and die to defend you, as you would for me. And I must tell you something else. Lady Mormont wishes me to live on Bear Island, and I have accepted.”

Now she smiled broadly.

“I will be pleased,” I went on, “and proud, to stand alongside you for many years to come. I have complete trust in you.”

“I would follow you through all seven hells,” she said. The determination sounded odd in her bubbly voice, but she meant every word. “You are my princess.”

She made to kneel before me, but I stopped her. “Kneel only before Lady Mormont.”

Trisha nodded. “This is even better news than the return of Longclaw. Every Guard who fought with you will feel the same. As will the others when we tell them.”

“I am merely a younger Mormont daughter.”

“The Lady wishes to name you Guard commander,” Trisha said. “She asked me about it before the Night’s King came to Winterfell.”

“There will not be jealousy?”

“No,” she said. “Lady Dacey was the last commander. We expected it to be Lady Lyra next. It’s always a son or daughter of House Mormont.”

I rode north shortly afterwards, with my three sisters and eight horses. The others returned to Winterfell, where they would attempt to bring order to the shattered North. For those of the common people who had survived, the seeming disorder might be welcome: no one would trouble them for taxes, or conscript them for war, for some time to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris has a life-altering meeting.


	50. Chapter Fourteen (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter brings death to the Undying.

Chapter Fourteen (John Carter)

Xaro Xhoan Daxos, merchant prince of Qarth, eventually realized that all was not as it had seemed to him. A massive horde of Dothraki marched on his home city, not a pitiful band of stragglers, and this horde did not include Daenerys Targaryen or her dragons.

By that point, I had extracted from him all of the information I needed for the swift occupation of his home city. I kept the merchant alive, in case he might be needed when it came time to rule Qarth, but the plans for the assault were ready within the next day. We would soon run out of grazing for our herds and had to strike quickly.

Moro’s khas effectively blanketed the approaches to the city, killing or capturing all who attempted to enter or leave Qarth. The moon had gone fully dark, and I decided to take advantage of this circumstance for a night attack.

The Dothraki did not like fighting at night, but would do so at my insistence. I assigned the essential tasks to my elite units: the Hyrkoon and a force of Unsullied would scale the walls at the two northward-facing gates, seize them and open them. My Companions and the remainder of the Hyrkoon would rush through and secure all three gates in each sequence.

Jhaqo would lead his khas into the city itself, while Pono’s dismounted to sweep the walls from sea to sea and eliminate all watch and garrison troops they found. Moro would rush to the docks, seize any ships they could, and prevent anyone leaving the city by that route. Syrello Ormaar would march the pike and crossbowmen immediately to the so-called House of the Undying, fire the building and shoot down any and every person attempting to escape.

I decided that I needed to climb the walls myself, and would accompany the storming party at the north-west gate, 300 armored warrior women drawn from those attached to my Companions.

“John,” my bedwarmer asked as we dismounted outside the main Dothraki camp. I realized that while she took a great liberty in using my Christian name, she was the only person in this world who did so. “Take me with you. When we . . . when we climb the walls.”

“It’s thirty feet,” I said. “You can climb that? With a rope?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I want to be with you, when there’s . . . there’s danger.”

“You’ll wait outside with Selmy and Syrio,” I said. “You can help kill any survivors once the gates are opened.”

“Thank you,” she said, fighting back tears. Then she whispered, “I love you. I would die for you.”

I lifted her and entered without saying any more, and finished inside her. She cried as I lowered her to the ground.

* * *

We heard the sounds of battle to our right; the Qartheen watchmen had detected the assault by Orange Cat’s 200 Unsullied and 100 other volunteers. I could tell from his thoughts that at least some of his men had made it to the top and become engaged with the troops there. The handful of troops atop the gate we had quietly approached gave their full attention to the ruckus.

“Let’s go,” I whispered to Badriyak, who commanded the Hyrkoon. We sprinted the final hundred yards to the walls and I raced along our line tossing grapnels upward. With my physical strength I could throw the iron hooks without having to swing them first to gain momentum, reducing the time our assault party spent exposed on the open ground at the foot of the walls. When all of them were in place, I started up the last of them, that closest to the gate itself. Warrior women were already scaling all of the other ropes.

I went up the wall easily and reached the top well ahead of any of the Hyrkoon. Wishing to show my skills - and to prevent our enemies’ cutting our ropes - I vaulted onto the top of the wall where the defenders awaited me.

Three men engaged me from the front, and I felt a fourth coming swiftly up behind me to stab me in the back with his sword when Badriyak climbed between the merlons and leapt onto the fighting platform. She had no time to draw her own blade, and simply put her body between the guard’s sword and my back. Its point took her squarely in the center of her chest, and even as she died she grappled with her killer, pressing the sword fully through her body as she tilted both of them over the inner edge of the wall.

As I killed all three of my opponents, I felt a deep rage overtake me and I charged those behind them even as more Hyrkoon women reached the top of the wall. I fought in a berserker fury, killing every man I could reach until none remained. The Hyrkoon streamed past me and down the stone steps to the gate, where they quickly opened it to our allies waiting outside.

We had captured the gate at the cost of four wounded and no dead except the valiant Badriyak, whose broken body lay in an embrace of death with that of the man she had killed, who had killed her.

“Your orders, my lord?” asked Badriyak’s second, whose name I could not recall. The remainder of the Hyrkoon poured through the now-open gates, securing the two inner entryways as well.

“Clear the walls,” I said, still looking at the valiant Hyrkoon warrior’s corpse. She had wished me to choose her for love-making, but I had found her too unappealing. “No prisoners.”

While the Hyrkoon split up to take the walls, now joined by several hundred of Pono’s Dothraki fighting on foot, Moro’s khas thundered past on their way to the docks. Selmy and Syrio awaited me within the now-open gate, along with Calye who shoved me with both hands.

“There’s a battle going . . . going on. If you’re not dead, you need to . . . to lead us.”

“She gave her life for me.”

“Just like . . . like I would. Don’t let it be for . . . for nothing.”

Calye actually wished that she were the woman lying dead before us. Then, she thought, I might appreciate her. And now that I reflect on these events and what came later, perhaps she was right.

“Let’s go,” I said as Syrello’s brigade appeared in the gateway. “We have some wizards to kill.”

The four of us marched at the head of the Myrish mercenaries, alongside their commander. Screams rose as the Dothraki poured into the city; I had instructed that no fires were to be set, on pain of death, but no resistance would be tolerated, either. A small khas of my Companions had the task of securing the pleasure palace of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, and any treasures found in the city were to be taken there. The strictures against rape remained in force, but I knew many women would be dishonored this night anyway, at least where no Hyrkoon were present.

Syrio Forel dispatched two would-be attackers, the only foes he considered worthy of his steel, and left the others to Selmy. I considered scolding him, for battle is a deadly business in which any foe can kill you if not taken seriously, but understood that he was showing off for my benefit. When a youth waving a sword charged us, Syrio ordered Calye to fight him. Syrio placed his hand on my arm when I made to intervene, and instead directed her through the fight step by step, until she finally put her sword in his heart. She lacked the muscle strength to run the boy through.

“She could have been killed,” I said.

“Could have been,” the sword master allowed, “but was not. There is no better reminder of one’s lessons than facing an enemy bent on killing you.”

He turned to my bedwarmer.

“What do we tell the god of death?”

“Not. . . not fucking today.”

The House of the Undying was a low-lying but very large stone structure, surrounded by groves of strange black trees with blue leaves. Xaro Xhoan Daxos had revealed that the wizards made a special hallucinogen from these trees, and as we had planned Syrello’s men began to chop down the trees and build fires of them.

I had thought that such desecration would bring the wizards out of their fortress, where the crossbowmen could shoot them down, but we saw no reaction from within the building. Within an hour a small team of Dothraki blacksmiths arrived with a wagonload of gunpowder. Since we had been able to breach the city’s defenses without its help, I now planned to use it against the wizards.

The only evident door was shaped like a gaping human mouth, set in a large relief of a human face, with a sealed door in its gullet. We filled the rather ugly mouth with sacks of gunpowder, and Syrello personally loosed a fiery bolt into the pile.

The explosion destroyed the strange doorway and brought down the wall for a considerable stretch, at least sixty feet on either side. A few figures staggered out of the ruins, to be shot down by the crossbowmen. I could detect more thought patterns within, and told Syrello to hold his ground.

About twenty of the warlocks emerged together, walking slowly towards us, and the crossbowmen managed to kill only two. Syrello himself loosed a bolt, and missed. I had never seen him miss a target.

“There are so many,” he said. “We’ll never stop them all.”

I looked through his eyes. He saw hundreds of aged, wrinkled men approaching.

“Give me your crossbow,” I said. I took the weapon and killed the closest warlock. “Gather a dozen men and keep handing me loaded weapons. They are using some trick to confuse your senses, but it doesn’t seem to affect me.”

I fell into a steady rhythm, aiming and loosing and killing. Soon all twenty warlocks lay dead on the ground; my men and Calye could now see them clearly.

“So this,” Syrello said, “is why you want them all dead.”

“Yes,” I said. “Remain here. There are still some of them within. I’ll go after them.”

“I’ll . . . I’ll go with you,” Calye said. She expected, even hoped, to die by my side. Selmy stepped up alongside her, and nodded. I returned the gesture, and the three of us climbed over the shattered stone and masonry into the temple. I kept the last crossbow I had been handed, not thinking to return it to its owner.

Beyond the broken entry lay the short remnants of a hallway that opened into a broad chamber. Parts of the roof had collapsed and I saw several corpses trapped beneath the fallen stone. A single warlock stood before us; all three of us saw the same man.

“You’ve destroyed us, John Carter. The work of a hundred centuries falls before your barbarian horde. I’m the last of an ancient order.”

“This is where you drove countless victims to madness with illusions,” I said, reading his thoughts. “There are no other chambers in the House of the Undying. Just this one large one, where you wove your deadly mirages.”

“Quite so,” he said. “Other than some bedchambers, a kitchen, a dining hall. I suppose you’ll murder me now, as you did Pyat Pree?”

“Yes,” I said, as I shot him in the throat.

* * *

As flames climbed over the wreckage of the House of the Undying, I set out for the pleasure palace of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, where Mormont awaited us with reports of the city’s fall. A passing Dothraki patrol gave us four horses; by their rich and mostly useless tack I supposed them to be animals taken from some Qartheen stable. The riders believed that resistance had collapsed.

Mormont confirmed their guess when we reached our new headquarters. The Civic Guard had retreated to its barracks and asked for terms; per my earlier instructions Ko Jhaqo had granted them a temporary truce so long as they remained there, and had ringed the structures with Dothraki. The walls had been cleared, and Moro had secured the docks.

Flush with victory, I took my bedwarmer in the huge, soft bed normally belonging to Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Thanks to the excitement of the fighting she reached female hysteria; I disapproved but said nothing of it.

“You . . . you were worried about me,” Calye whispered after I had finished inside her. “When I fought with my . . . my sword.”

“Syrio shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “I understand why he did, but he shouldn’t have done that with you.”

“You didn’t . . . didn’t want me hurt.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” I allowed. “Now go to sleep.”

She pressed herself tightly against me. Though I usually referred to Calye as my bedwarmer, I actually found the touch of her naked flesh uncomfortable; her body temperature was noticeably cooler than that of most people. I would have preferred my princess in my bed; it would be many days yet before I could expect to hear any word of her.

I fell asleep regretting not sending Calye elsewhere after I had used her; she had some sort of nasal defect and snored terribly. I could have summoned a Hyrkoon beauty, but the aftermath of combat as always left me feeling drained and I decided that one woman was enough for the moment.

* * *

As the sun rose some of the surviving leaders of Qarth came to submit, one by one, each looking for his own advantage. Almost all of them brought gifts of wine; about half of the supplicants had poisoned the bottles. Each of these was forced to drink his own vintage, with any family members who had accompanied them drinking first, and from the effects it appeared that many different sorts of poison had been employed. Two members of the Pureborn, the ruling elite, brought slave girls for my pleasure, one of whom had poison slathered on her nipples. Her owner also was forced to partake, and died writhing on the floor of the audience chamber.

“Syrio,” I asked my sword master, “would one of these women please you?”

“Provided their breasts are thoroughly bathed, yes.”

“Which would you like?”

“Must I choose?”

“Certainly not,” I said. “Have them both.”

Bestowing playthings on the Braavosi proved the morning’s easiest task. I did not wish to linger long in Qarth, not without my princess. But before I could leave, I would have to prove my fitness to rule; simply killing the corrupt Pureborn and merchant princes would not be enough. I would have to replace them with a loyal and competent satrap, a governor who would not simply bar the gates behind me as soon as I had left and declare himself king. I had known all along that capturing Qarth would be far easier than ruling it.

My Dothraki kos were loyal, for the most part. But they had no understanding of city life. I had given this a great deal of thought during the long hours of riding, and knew that the old power structure had to be overturned, and replaced with a new class that owed its position to me. They would be loyal out of self-interest.

The clumsy assassination attempts proved very useful in that regard, providing a pretext for the execution of the would-be killers and confiscation of their property. And they had owned a vast amount of property: mansions, manufactories, ships, gold and other valuables.

Slave labor had driven the Qartheen economy, which in turn had been directed by three powerful trading blocs known as the Tourmaline Brotherhood, the Thirteen and the Ancient Guild of Spicers. Some of their membership had died in the fall of Qarth, and others expired from drinking poisoned wine or sucking a poisoned nipple.

About forty of the Qartheen warships in port at the time of our assault had escaped; roughly another sixty had been outside the city at the time. We had seized 102 warships, most of them oar-powered galleys. That gave us parity at sea - if I could convince the Qartheen to crew and captain this fleet in my cause. The Dothraki feared salt water, while the Hyrkoon, though fearing nothing, lived hundreds of miles away from the sea.

I could not patrol the streets and enforce my new code of laws with my Dothraki and Hyrkoon, fierce as they were. At some level, the Qartheen would have to rule themselves, and make their own economy operate. And so I had to find men I could trust to at least serve their own self-interest, if not to enthusiastically serve me.

In the afternoon I ordered a funeral pyre built in one of the city’s open squares, and there dedicated Badriyak’s corpse to her gods, whoever they might have been. I had known little about her beyond her name, yet she had willingly given her life for mine.

* * *

Before dealing with the Pureborn, I decided to address the remnants of Qarth’s military. This aspect I felt I understood, and I wanted to address it I before plunging into politics. Mormont reported the capture of the fleet and Civic Guard command staffs, and I had them brought to Xaro’s pleasure palace along with the captains of five mercenary companies.

I dealt with the mercenaries first, giving them the choice of joining my forces or meeting their deaths. The companies numbered just over 4,000 men that I intended to add to the infantry and heavy cavalry brigades; none of their officers showed a great deal of promise but neither did I find any of them to be a danger. Even so, I would have Orange Cat, Syrello and Lodovico break up the companies and spread the new men among our veterans.

The Civic Guard had numbered about 10,000 men before our assault; about three thousand had been killed or seriously wounded during the attack and an equal number had deserted. The remaining four thousand had been ordered to their barracks, along with the fleet’s professional sailors.

The fleet numbered about 10,000 free men and another 15,000 galley slaves, not counting those ships not under our control. I knew what my princess would advise: set the slaves free. I paced one of Xaro’s rooftop gardens while I pondered, occasionally looking out over the city. A few pillars of smoke rose into the afternoon light. Calye, Mormont, Ornela and Pono trailed behind me, knowing that I did not wish to be interrupted. Selmy dragged Xaro along well behind them.

I had no information on the treatment of the galley slaves, but recalled that in my own past the term itself had been a watchword for misery.

“Xaro Xhoan Daxos,” I called. Selmy prodded him forward. “Tell me of the fleet’s slaves. What is their origin?”

“Most were condemned for debt,” he said, then hastily appended, “My lord. Some were sent to the galleys for political crimes, and others from the crews of pirate ships.”

“So most are Qartheen?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Which made them of the white race, or at least some related branch. I had never seen people of my own world quite like the Qartheen. They actually looked a great deal like Calye, both their death-like pallor and their hooked noses. Their female fashion bared half their bosom, and I had already noted that most Qartheen women did not share Calye’s deformity.

“You say many were condemned for debt,” I continued my questioning. “That’s a common practice?”

“Yes, my lord. The commoners have no sense of money management. They must be given severe discipline, when they make bad choices.”

I turned away to look out over the city, lest I strike Xaro Xhoan Daxos and kill him on the spot. The phrase “bad choices” brought back clear and humiliating memories of rich men sneering the very same words as their excuse to take through the courts that which they had never earned with their sweat or their sword. Even here, the bankers warped the instruments of the state, which should protect the people, to plunder them instead.

Yet the Qartheen merchant prince had clarified my thoughts. I would free all debt slaves, at the very least. Even as I made the decision, I knew that I did so to spite men who would never know of it, and might well be long dead. That did not deter me, and I turned back to Xaro Xhoan Daxos.

“Are there other debt slaves, besides those condemned to the galleys?”

“Some, my lord,” he said, not realizing how close he had come to death. “A man cannot be taken directly for debt, but passes to the control of the Pureborn who pay compensation to the aggrieved and put the condemned to work to pay off their debts. The streets are cleaned and repaired by municipal slaves, for example, and most of those are debt offenders.”

“How many?”

“I would guess the number to be about one hundred thousand,” he said. “Including those rented to private interests. But I do not know for certain.”

“How many slaves do private owners hold?”

“The city itself numbers five hundred thousand. Perhaps half of that number are slaves.”

So another 150,000 slaves, more or less. I signaled to Selmy to take the merchant again, and resumed my pacing. I had a great deal to consider.

My princess had urged that we appear as liberators, proclaiming freedom for all slaves as we approached each new city or land. Those freed, she argued, would become my staunchest supporters. And while she was not totally wrong, she held a naïve view of how the world works outside the sheltered life she had led.

These kingdoms we proposed to overthrow depended on slave labor. Their crops were grown by slaves, their manufactures produced by slaves, their ships propelled by slaves. Slaves cooked their food, cleaned their homes and their clothing, and provided them with carnal pleasures. Slaves nursed, clothed and even taught their children.

Simply freeing the slaves on the spot, as I knew my princess desired, would lead to utter chaos. Food would disappear. Shipping and manufacturing would come to a complete stop; even ships with complete companies of free sailors depended on slave work crews to load and unload their goods, and often slave scribes to record them. People - including many of the newly-freed slaves - would starve. And starving people will do anything, will kill anyone, to obtain another day’s sustenance.

And that lay on top of the surety of vengeance. I knew from experience how brutal slaves could be when they turned on their masters. Virginia maintained her slave patrols solely to defend the honor of white women from sexually-crazed escaped slaves. Perhaps the slaves of Qarth, being mostly white, would act less like animals than those I had known in Virginia. But I could not count on this.

We would begin with the galley slaves, cancelling their debts and offering them employment as free rowers or a cash bonus as though they had been demobilized from the Qartheen Navy. Next would come the municipal slaves of Qarth, who would be given wages for the work they now performed, but the freedom to change their employment as they saw fit. The merchant princes would have to be taxed more heavily to pay for this, and lose the debt payments, but I did not mind inflicting financial pain on these worthless human leeches.

In the final stage, privately-held slaves would be transferred to the new city government I would establish here, and then freed under the same terms as the municipal slaves. Owners would be compensated out of the massive funds I expected we would expropriate from those who resisted the new order.

“You can’t be Khal John here in Qarth,” Mormont said when I had laid out my thoughts to my companions. “You’re the ruler now, and these people will need to bend the knee to you. You’ve become their king.”

“You will bring disaster to all the worthy people of Qarth!” Xaro Xhoan Daxos whined. “Slaves are the basis of wealth.”

“I cannot call a slave brother,” Pono added. “Let it be as you say. Make them men.”

“The Dothraki will approve?”

“They will approve of nothing less,” Ornela answered before he could speak. “Dothraki are served _by_ slaves. They do not serve _with_ them.”

“It is known,” Pono agreed. “And it is _okay_.”

* * *

I met privately that evening with the senior officers of the Qartheen Navy, at least those who had survived the fall of Qarth and the gifting of poisoned wine. The two remaining admirals were effete members of the merchant elite, but the senior captains were wind-burned veterans of long years at sea. I listened and asked questions, mostly interested in their attitudes, but learned some unexpected facts.

Qarth’s fleet was partially privately owned; merchant princes invested in warships and then reaped any profits from pirate ships captured by their warship. They also had first call on their warships to convoy their privately-held merchant shipping through dangerous seas. That made it difficult to assemble any number of warships together, but Qarth had apparently not fought a fleet action for generations.

That made the exiled fleet elements less of a danger to our enterprise than I had feared, but also limited the usefulness of those ships remaining to me without some major reforms, which I now instituted.

I dismissed the two useless admirals, known in Qarth as Princes of the Sea, and chose a veteran captain named Jaeron Melennis to command the fleet. Melennis had won a number of ship-to-ship actions against pirates, was well-respected by the other captains, and originally came from Pentos rather than Qarth. Most importantly, he saw my assumption of power as an opportunity to turn the fleet into a service where a man’s merit, rather than his wealth, brought advancement.

“What are your orders, my . . . lord?”

“My lord will do,” I said. “I want you, and the captains here, to devise a pay scale for all men of the fleet, including the rowers. They’re to be free men. And I want to know how many ships can be made ready for action within thirty days, crewed by loyal men.”

“Loyal to you, my lord?”

“To me, and the new Kingdom of Qarth,” I said. “A kingdom where a man advances by his own hand, not by his birth.”

“Perhaps you should spread that message,” he said, “before we determine how many men we can muster. My lord.”

I nodded. He had an excellent point. I knew much of war, but little of politics.

“And how are messages spread in Qarth?”

“The usual ways,” Melennis said. “Formally, by criers. Informally, from person to person, usually of the same caste. And then there are the messages sent by way of symbols.”

“You have something more to say?” Which of course he did, but did not know if he should risk going too far. “If you’re to command my fleets, you must speak truth to me, and I must learn to trust your judgement.”

“Very well. The Dothraki barbarians in the streets.”

“I have no one else to keep order, and forestall revolt.”

“The sellswords have already switched sides,” he pointed out. “Use them in the city, and your crossbowmen and warrior women to hold the gates.”

“This is wise advice,” Ornela said. “We came to make war on the rulers of the Milk Men, not on the people.

“All of these men,” she gestured at the captains, “can rise to far greater heights now than they ever could before. Let it be this way for all of this city. Make them earn their place, like Dothraki, not trade gold for it.”

I nodded, and felt the approving thoughts of the captains.

“The merchant captains will feel the same way?” I asked the group.

“I’ve captained a trader,” one of the older captains said, a man named Sallodos Forin. “Nothing in it for yourself. I shifted to the Navy just to get away from the money-grubbers taking your work as their own.”

“Who will own the ships?” another captain asked. They were becoming more confident and less fearful of my wrath. My reputation in Qarth was apparently built on the fate of the Undying.

“Warships are the property of the crown,” I said. “That is, me. With the officers and crews paid on the scale you men will determine and I will approve. When a lawful prize is taken, the officers and crew will share in the proceeds equally with the crown, with extra shares for the captain and officers.”

The captains again murmured their approval. They held deep grudges against the merchant princes, making it fairly easy for me to consolidate power here. The merchants would be another story.

“We’ve taken hundreds of trading ships,” I went on, “or at least prevented their leaving port. What do you suggest we do with them?”

“Take them as well,” Melennis said. “Under the . . . the crown. But give the officers a stake, and let them buy back your stake over time.”

“What of the owners?” Xaro Xhoan Daxos shrilled. “The lawful owners, the job creators who made the ships and their trade possible at all? They’re the ones who trade, not the ship captains. They’re the ones who made Qarth, not the sailors, not the slaves.”

“They’ve had their day,” I said, as the merchant prince began to weep. Tears seemed as necessary to the Qartheen as an arakh to the Dothraki. “It’s a new morning for Qarth, and all of Essos. It’s time that more men had a chance to make their fortunes.”

* * *

The soldiers of the Civic Guard proved less accommodating than the sailors had been, but as I did not need their officers as badly as I needed the sea captains, this proved less of a problem. The city held just over 1,000 Unsullied, all of them held by private owners, and I demanded that all of these masters hand over their symbolic whips. Only two resisted, and Orange Cat reluctantly overran their mansions with his pike brigades and put the owners to the sword. The Unsullied resisted to the death, even against their fellow slave-soldiers.

I assigned all of the Civic Guard troops to Orange Cat’s brigades, except for 500 camel-riding archers I added to the heavy cavalry. It left me uneasy to have an entire unit of Qartheen, and resolved to move them away from the city at the first opportunity. Eventually at least a thousand of the former galley slaves wished to enlist with us, and I assigned them to Orange Cat as well.

At Ornela’s insistence, I waited to meet the ruling elite until the Hall of a Thousand Thrones had been modified by city slave workers. This huge marble-walled hall held perhaps a thousand fantastical thrones, each richly carved and studded with precious stones. The vast building housing the Hall also had a vast basement, and I had the thrones moved there; I intended to break them up for their gold, silver and jewels but figured that should wait until I had the Pureborn thoroughly cowed.

When I did summon them, I stood before a heavy table where Mormont, Ornela, Melennis and Xaro Xhoan Daxos sat. The well-dressed Pureborn shuffled into the hall, many of them more interested in returning to their manses and the pleasures of the flesh than in what I had to say. Shorn of their fleet and their army, their impregnable walls breached, they had little leverage other than tradition, which several of them proceeded to employ.

I allowed them to speak until I grew bored, then stepped forward and held out my hand before the next speaker could begin.

“You have made it clear,” I said. “That Qarth is an ancient city, perhaps the birthplace of civilization in this world. That her greatness is celebrated in all the known world. I find nothing in your words with which I would argue. Qarth, once upon a time, was great. That moment has passed. I am here to make Qarth great again. You have many problems. I alone can fix them.”

“Well of course,” one scented effete answered. “You _are_ the problem. Remove yourself, and fulfill your own prediction.”

“I’m sorry, my friend, but that simply is not an option. You’re stuck with me, and my rule. I’ve called you here to give you all a chance to join me in building a new Qarth, one strong and prosperous. One where all worthy men have a chance to live and grow to their full potential.”

“We had that,” the same man said. “Until your barbarians stormed through our gates and slew hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocents.”

I admired this man’s bravery; his thoughts showed him well aware that I might order him killed at any moment, or simply draw Steel Flame and do so myself. That he now wept did lessen my regard considerably, even as it rose among his peers - among the Qartheen, to weep is to show strong emotion, and add emphasis to one’s words.

“What is your name, my friend?”

“Egon Emeros,” he sobbed. “Known as The Exquisite.”

“You, Egon Emeros the Exquisite, will join my Advisory Council. You will help me build a new Qarth.”

“I fear I must decline this honor.”

“Oh, my friend,” I smiled very consciously, as I did not mean it. “That was not a request.”

I stepped down toward the assembled Pureorn, causing them to shrink away from me.

“It’s a new day for Qarth,” I said. “The Kingdom is restored, and tradition thereby served. Not only are my own Dothraki, Hyrkoon and other troops in firm control of the city, but my new Qartheen soldiers and sailors have sworn their loyalty.”

“It’s said that you plan to free the galley slaves,” said another man.

“That’s true,” I said, though at that moment only the fleet’s captains should have known this. “And only the beginning. Never again will any man, woman or child of Qarth be a slave. Men will come to prominence through the power of their deeds, not of their name or their inherited wealth.”

“With you as our king,” the Exquisite added. “One not born of Qarth.”

“A strong king protects the people,” I said. “All of the people.”

* * *

I held similarly frustrating meetings with the three blocs of merchant princes, appointing additional representatives to my Council and forcing a few more to drink their own wine. No one else offered a poisoned nipple. The Ancient Guild of Spicers proved surprisingly resistant; apparently, they had been extremely loyal to the Undying. They had no clue of an interesting bit of trivia I had picked up from the thoughts of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, that he and Pyat Pree had planned to slaughter the leaders of the other blocs as well as the Pureborn and seize power.

“Xaro,” I addressed him over breakfast one morning about four weeks after the fall of Qarth. He despised my familiarity and found the shortened version of his name puzzling, as he had been addressed by his full moniker for his entire life. “I’ve heard rumors that you had hoped to become king of Qarth yourself.”

“No, my lord. My business interests took up my full attention, as they will when you’ve finished impoverishing me.”

“Come now, Xaro, Firstly, you know it’s impossible to lie to me. Secondly, I’ve left you with twenty ships and two warehouses plus whatever cash you’ve hidden away. A man of your skills should have a thousand ships in no time, especially with all the valuable information that falls from my breakfast table into your ears.”

“I’d rather you’d killed me. My lord.”

“If you wish,” I said, and reached for Steel Flame. I did not actually intend to use it on him, but a Dothraki messenger interrupted us.

“I come from the khaleesi, my khal,” the rider said. “She has taken the Unsullied and the city Astapor.”

His thoughts seemed confused, so I tried to clarify them.

“She bought the Unsullied,” I said. “From the city of Astapor.”

“No, my khal. But yes, my khal. The khaleesi offered the black dragon for all of the Unsullied. When the Lamb Man had given her the whip that rules the Unsullied, she told the black dragon to burn him and set the Unsullied against the city. Ko Rakharo added the Companions and the warrior women. The city Astapor is yours, my khal.”

“And the khaleesi?”

“She marches on the city Yunkai, and asks that you meet her at the city Meereen.”

I thanked the man, and called for Calye to ready our things. We had a long ride ahead of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter reunites with his princess, to find that some changes have taken place.


	51. Chapter Thirty-Six (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris has a life-altering meeting.

Chapter Thirty-Six (Dejah Thoris)

We found Castle Black still empty; I could detect no thoughts anywhere nearby, living or dead. The wagons and drivers that Ser Davos planned to dispatch from among the Winterfell people would arrive soon and we had a great deal of work to accomplish before then. All four of us moved into the commander’s chambers and set to our tasks: chiefly, preparing the library for transport. I missed Maege and my friend Trisha, but I was happy for the opportunity to further bond with my sisters.

Tansy made a cleaning instrument called a “broom” and swept out the little stone building adjacent to the castle’s main hall. It had been filled with spiders, and I had refused to enter. I hate spiders; those of Barsoom are very large and prey on people. I wanted to set these small but repellent spiders and their webs on fire but Tansy said that was cruel. Apparently, it was not cruel to smash them with a broom. I did not like getting close enough to them to do so.

“It’s a cookhouse,” she explained as she showed me the building. “Sort of a self-contained kitchen. It has hearths for cooking with grills to fit them and a whole row of very good iron stoves.”

“They had two kitchens?”

“At a guess, the one inside we used before was for their officers, and this one for the rank and file. At some point they only needed one, and stopped using this one. But it’s been very well-kept and Bear Island can use its metal.”

“Iron grills used for cooking are difficult to obtain?” I asked.

“This far North? Very much so. Really everywhere in Westeros, iron and steel are expensive even if you can get it.”

“And Bear Island is poorer than most.”

“That’s right,” Tansy said. “We can ask Lyra or Jory to be sure, but I suspect they’re hurting for ironwork. Pieces that aren’t usable can always be re-forged, if they have a blacksmith.”

“Then we will loot this castle’s iron.”

Over the next four weeks, my sisters wrapped books in preparation for transport while I wandered through the castle ripping out iron fittings from doors and windows. I also moved several of the iron stoves, ovens and griddles out of the cookhouse, along with iron cookware. I enjoyed the work, as it took my mind off my slaying of Sansa Stark.

Tansy and I did not repeat our sexual encounter; though I very much wished to experience her body again and feel her orgasm, I feared rejection if I suggested that we do so again. The ways of this planet again frustrated me, as I would not have had to speak my desire aloud among other telepaths. I knew that I could seduce her, but did not know if she would later regret succumbing.

And so I watched her bathe, and undress, all while trying to hide my desire for her. I looked for signs of interest when I bathed or removed my clothing within her sight, but saw none. I would have to wait for her.

One sunlit afternoon, I lay on my back looking up at the clouds coming over the glistening Wall. I rested after assembling stacks of building materials I had looted from the towers of Castle Black: iron door hinges, sconces to hold torches, fireplace fittings and similar objects. I had also found several large wooden cases apparently intended to transport swords, and filled these with the better-quality weapons from the armory.

The sight of the Wall fascinated me; I could not imagine how it had been built or how it remained frozen when the ground on either side supported trees and other plant life. I enjoyed the feel of the warm sun on my skin, while the ground beneath my bare shoulders felt no colder than the surrounding air.

I had poked into some of the small excavations around Castle Black into the Wall; it appeared to be solid ice. The tunnel through the Wall could have told me a great deal about the structure’s consistency, if not its origins, but I saw no easy way to excavate it. I wished for just a fraction of the equipment in my laboratory in Helium so that I might learn more. An entire career could be built on this one structure, and in my mind I began the rough draft of a paper describing these questions. When no one could see me I stuck my sword into the side of the Wall again; this time the ice did not react.

I looked forward to our settling on Bear Island, where I hoped to begin writing my analyses of all I had encountered thus far. That no one else on this planet could read the script of Helium bothered me not in the least. I had always believed that one writes to satisfy oneself, not to gain the approval of others.

Those fancies faded quickly as I picked up the thoughts of a rider approaching from the direction of Winterfell. A young woman, alone, she sought me and also Lyra. All three of my sisters were inside the outer tower, carefully wrapping cloth that we had made waterproof around the last of the books for the journey to Bear Island. I called to them but Jory’s thoughts showed that they did not hear me. I pulled on the sleeveless brown dress I had cast aside – I preferred to wear nothing, as we do on Barsoom – and walked over to meet the rider myself.

She brought her horse to a halt when she saw me.

“Hello,” I said, and with one word a new stage of my life began.

She swung her leg easily over the pommel of the saddle and landed with a bounce.

“Hello,” she answered. “You’re Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, Slayer of the Night’s King.”

She wore riding leggings like a man’s, made from coarse blue cloth, and a loose-fitting brown tunic. She had a sword strapped to her saddle but left it there. She was nervous to meet me, but found me beautiful despite my simple clothing and the dirt that I had not known was smeared on my face. I felt an unexpected thrill at her attraction to me.

“I am. And you?”

She stood easily in front of me, not falling to her knees or making the ridiculous “curtsey” move with which women here showed subservience, but her friendly smile more than compensated. I did not yet know how I would come to love that smile.

“Beth Cassel,” she introduced herself.

I stared at her for a moment, then finally spoke.

“You are not dead.”

“Not the last time I looked, no.”

“Before I killed them, the Ryswell twins said that Ramsay Bolton had killed you.”

I did not then tell her what Walder had said of her rape by the man named Theon.

“He didn’t,” she said; she was not eager to speak of Ramsay Bolton. “Not for lack of trying. Ser Davos Seaworth sent me with the wagon train; they’re a few hours behind me. I’m looking for you.”

Beth Cassel looked a great deal like Lyra Mormont, though she was slightly shorter than Lyra, Tansy or I. That still made her taller than most women of this place. She had very light brown hair, what she later told me was called “dirty blonde,” that touched the top of her shoulders, and an athletic build. She was almost as pretty as Lyra, though her nose had been broken and healed crookedly, and her face and visible skin were marked with the small spots some Northern people have, called “freckles.” She had large eyes of a very dark blue; I wished to stare into them. Her thoughts did not reveal why she sought me, but I found that I liked her already.

“You have found me. Come inside and meet my sisters.”

“What about my horse?”

“He will be fine,” I said, silently asking him to remain in place. “After we have found the others, you can take off his tack and put him in the corral. The stable is badly damaged. I was removing fittings from it when you arrived. Or I should have been doing so but I was looking at the clouds instead.”

She smiled again, and walked alongside me to the tower. She sat on a stone bench outside the door to take off her very muddy boots before entering. I noticed that the toes on her left foot had been broken and healed badly, though she walked without a limp. She saw me looking at them, and wiggled them slightly.

“I was held captive by the Boltons,” she explained. “They left me these to remember them by. And a few other scars, inside and out.”

“I killed Ramsay Bolton,” I blurted out.

“I know. Ser Davos told me.”

I felt awkward for bringing up what obviously still disturbed her. I found that I very much wanted her to like me, and that wish confused my speech. We entered the tower and I shouted for Lyra, Jory and Tansy.

Lyra squealed when she saw Beth. I had never heard her make such a sound. She ran down the stairs from the upper floor and flung her arms around Beth.

“You’re alive,” she gasped. “I thought you had to be dead. We drank to your memory.”

“How do you know Beth?” I asked Lyra as Jory flung herself on our visitor.

“She’s our cousin. Yours too, now. Her mother was our aunt, younger sister to our mother.”

I remembered that Maege had told me this, and had regretted not bringing Beth to live on Bear Island with her.

Tansy took my elbow and pulled me back through the doorway.

“We’ll call you when dinner’s ready,” she said.

“I will take care of your horse,” I added.

We entered the Castle Black kitchen, where I built up the fire in the iron stove while Tansy collected food – a large fish I had speared that morning in a nearby stream, some grain from far to the South called “rice,” and several vegetables. No one approved of my cooking food, so I sat on a stool and watched my sister.

“I like Beth,” I said.

“Of course you do. She’s tall and pretty, she has big tits and she reminds you of Lyra,” Tansy cautioned as she chopped up a root vegetable known as a “carrot.” Horses loved them; I was less enthusiastic. “Perhaps you should learn more about her.”

“Why? Do you know her?”

“No. But you have a habit of making instant judgments of people.”

“Reading thoughts makes that easier.”

“I’m sure it does,” she agreed, slitting open the fish’s belly very deftly. “But you can only read what she’s thinking right at the moment, right?”

“Right.”

Tansy ran the knife down the sides of the fish in short, hard strokes to take off its scales. The fish of Barsoom are similarly scale-covered, though they are considered a delicacy given our lack of open water.

“You’re usually right,” Tansy said. “If you like her, I’m sure she’s nice. Just remember. She was Sansa’s childhood friend. Lyra’s right, we drank to her memory.”

“And I killed Sansa.”

“That you did, and I’m still here gutting this fish because you stopped my undead niece from gutting me. We can’t read thoughts like you, and that means we can’t read intent. Another mind-reader would know that you never wanted to hurt Sansa. Beth doesn’t know that.”

Beth Cassel had been looking for me. Did she seek vengeance? She had been friendly and did not have violent thoughts toward me, but I had only spent a few moments in her company. She was beautiful to my eyes - I knew that I was predisposed to like attractive people, as they reminded me of the royal class of Barsoom, my peers. I stared down at the floor and sought Beth’s mind. Tansy glanced at me and, knowing what I was about, went back to cooking.

I found her easily enough, there only being four people within my range. She sat with our sisters in the castle’s common room, having left the tower. Jory told of our march from Greywater Watch to Winterfell, including the fighting with Ramsay Bolton. Beth thought of horrific things done to her by Ramsay and other men. Disturbed, I broke the connection.

“She has been through terrible things,” I said. “I could not bear to read more.”

“Like I said, she’s probably nice. But we don’t even know why she’s here. Or do you?”

“No. She surely did not come to see the melting Wall.”

“We’ll find out more,” Tansy said. “Just make sure she’s trustworthy before we commit to anything.”

“I will. Now I will go care for her horse.”

I walked back to the corral where Beth’s horse stood calmly. I removed the saddle, blanket and tack and gave him some hay and oats from the Night’s Watch’s stores of fodder to eat while I brushed his coat. He was an old horse, and told me he had found his new rider after his last one had fallen and become lost - horses do not like to see dead things, and often concoct such stories to tell themselves when their rider is killed. He liked Beth; she petted him often and gave him apples even when she herself had been hungry. I put the tack in the small wooden building used to store such things.

Once under cover, I quickly looked through our visitor’s belongings. The sword was old and had not been used in a long time. Otherwise she had a few of the items one would expect from a woman travelling alone, but not many: the rags used to soak up so-called “moon blood,” teeth-cleaning powder, fire-starting items, a ragged blanket and what appeared to be some men’s clothing. She had no money and no food.

I felt somewhat ashamed, but remembered Tansy’s warning. Our safety mattered more than our guest’s privacy.

When I returned to the kitchens, Tansy had finished with dinner.

“I’ll carry this to the table,” she said, nodding at the full platter in her hands. “Get the door.”

Tansy laid out the food and a large jug of wine on the table where Beth sat with our sisters; she had already brought out plates, cups and utensils.

“We have dinner ready,” I said. “Actually, Tansy has dinner ready. But I took care of your horse.”

Beth’s thoughts indicated confusion over Tansy’s identity.

“This is my sister, Tansy,” I said. “She is from the River Lands.”

“Ser Davos spoke well of you,” Beth said to Tansy. “Lady Catelyn was also your sister?”

“We had the same father, Hoster Tully,” Tansy agreed. “But Catelyn didn’t care for bastards.”

“I remember how she treated Jon Snow,” Beth said. “She could be a very hard woman.”

“Please, eat,” Tansy said. “We’ll trade stories after.”

“You eat well here,” Beth said, smiling. Her thoughts said she had not eaten in several days; the wagon drivers had offered her food but she had refused to come near them, riding at a distance and sleeping well away from their campsites with a knife in her hand.

“The Night’s Watch had dwindled by the end,” Jory explained. “But they still had supplies for a full, long Winter for several hundred men.”

Beth proved to be very hungry. Tansy plied her with food and drink before plying her with questions. We took the jug of wine and our cups, and moved outside to sit on the lower platform of the huge set of stairs leading up the Wall, which still gave us a wide view. It had been badly burned in the course of some recent battle, but enough of it remained intact for five women to find a perch.

“So what’s your story, Beth Cassel?” Tansy got right to the point. She had spent a great deal of time with me.

“I grew up in Winterfell, and stayed there when Jeyne Poole and the Stark sisters went to King’s Landing. My father was Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, and as Lyra said, my mother was Maege Mormont’s little sister.

“The Iron Born commander murdered my father when they captured Winterfell,” she said. “It was Theon fucking Greyjoy, Lord Stark’s ward. Remember him?”

Lyra and Jory nodded silently.

“Walder told me,” I said, unable to prevent the words leaking out.

“Who’s Walder?” Beth asked.

“The stableboy formerly called Hodor,” I said. “He recovered from his brain injury and now can speak clearly. He said . . . he said it was horrific.”

“It was,” Beth nodded. “They thought it was funny to make him watch, to make him scream ‘Hodor! Hodor!’ and weep for me, while I screamed.

“I grew up with Theon. He raped me, and chained me in the Winterfell dungeon, side-by-side with Palla the kennelmaster’s daughter. Sometimes they came and raped us again. Ramsay Snow found me there. He raped me, and sent us to the Dreadfort. His father’s men raped me again, many times, and sold me to slavers. Not Palla. She wasn’t pretty enough. Ramsay and his friends hunted her down like an animal, raped her ’til she died and then brought her back slung from a pole like a deer they’d killed.

“The slavers took me to Tyrosh, and raped me again. I was sold to be trained as a bed slave, but when they took off my chains I used a broken piece of one to kill my owner. I hadn’t been marked yet so I was able to find a ship bound for Westeros. And here I am.”

All of her story was true. She had skipped over some of the even more horrible details, and the things she had done to pay for her passage. I felt the wood under my hands crack and fragment as I dug my fingers into it. Lyra wrapped her arm around Beth, who quietly settled into her side and looked at me.

“That’s why I’m here,” she said. “I’ve lost everything. My home, my family. Everything outside of that old horse, an old sword and these clothes.”

“Beth,” Lyra said. “You’re a Mormont woman, just like all of us here. You have a family. You always have. I grieve for Ser Rodrik, we all do, but there’s always been a place for you among us. Mother wanted you to live with us on Bear Island after Aunt Beth died.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I know that’s true. But I already had a home, a good home, with my father and Jory.”

“Jory?” I asked, confused.

“Beth’s uncle,” my little sister Jory explained. “Same nickname as me, but a man. Ser Rodrik’s younger brother.”

“His nephew, my cousin,” Beth corrected. “But he helped raise me. Jaime Lannister murdered him.”

An uncomfortable silence settled on us, broken by Tansy.

“Where did you get the horse?” she asked.

“The man riding it wanted to rape me. When he got off the horse, I hit him in the head with a rock. I hope he died. I took his sword, too.”

This was all true. Beth Cassel held a great deal of rage within her, but I could detect no dishonesty.

“Princess, they say you’re the finest sword in Westeros,” she went on, looking at me. “I want you to teach me how to fight. I’ll serve you, work for you, fight for you. Just teach me to fight like you do, so no one can ever use me again.”

I looked at Tansy. She nodded.

“I would like that,” I said as I picked up thoughts from Lyra. “But my sister Lyra has conditions.”

“Your sister?”

“Mother adopted Dejah and Tansy,” Lyra explained. “That allowed Dejah to fight for Sansa in a trial by combat, but it was something Mother wished to do anyway. You heard about Dacey?”

“No,” Beth said. “I figured she’d died in battle, when she wasn’t here, but I didn’t want to ask.”

“Murdered by the Freys,” Jory said. “At Robb Stark’s wedding.”

“The Boltons taunted me with that,” Beth said. “Just the part about Robb and Lady Catelyn. They didn’t know Dacey was my cousin, or I’m sure they’d have used that, too.”

“I think Mother thought it a sign from the old gods,” Lyra said, “when she met Dejah and Tansy. I’ve come to kind of like them myself. I would prefer that my sister Dejah keep her skills among the family. Come to Bear Island and live like a Mormont.”

“You don’t know me,” Beth said. “You haven’t seen me since we were girls. I’m not a girl any more. They took that away in the cells of the Dreadfort. Now I’m a killer and a whore.”

Tansy shrugged.

“She’s a bigger killer,” she nudged me with her elbow. “And I was a bigger whore. I ran a brothel. I made other women, girls, into whores. The Mormonts accepted us as family.

“Dejah is rarely wrong about people. If she wants you to stay, then it’s because you belong with us.”

“I very much want you to stay,” I added. “I love being a Mormont. You will as well.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Beth said.

“I am Dejah to my family.”

Beth wanted to cry, surprising herself with emotions she’d thought dead. I decided to change the subject.

“I will teach you the sword and the spear,” I said. “And hand-to-hand as well. And you will work just as we do.”

“What is it you’re doing here?” Beth asked.

“You probably should have asked that first,” Tansy said.

“I didn’t care,” Beth answered her, speaking quickly. “The princess, I mean Dejah, killed the Night’s King. She captured Moat Cailin, and killed Lyn Corbray and Black Walder. Lord Reed called her the fiercest fighter he’s ever seen – and he killed Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, in single combat. Teach me, Princess.”

She calmed herself.

“No man is using me ever again,” she repeated.

“No man is using you ever again,” I echoed.

She started at the harshness in my voice, then smiled.

“So what are you doing in this empty castle?”

“Looting it,” Jory said.

“Looting it?”

“The Night’s Watch is dead,” I said. “All killed by their Lord Commander, Jon Snow, when he became the Night’s King. Bear Island has many needs. So we are finding things that might be of use and sending them there with the wagon drivers you already met.”

“There were many wagons.”

“Most of those are for the library from Castle Black,” Tansy said. “It deserves a safer location.”

“I don’t know,” Beth said, “that I’m fit to live with people.”

“You do not seem uneasy with us,” I answered.

“You’re all women,” she said. “I don’t have a problem around women. Or as much of one, anyway.”

“I am learning how badly many women have been hurt by men in this land,” I said. “Every time I think I understand, I learn of even greater horrors. Part of me would like to build a safe place for women alone. But a healthy community needs both men and women, and children too. All must learn to live together and respect one another.”

“That’s what I want to see happen on Bear Island,” Lyra picked up the point. “I’m not the heir, but I know that Mother and Alysane agree.”

“That’s a bold dream,” Beth said. “A beautiful dream, but it sounds impossible.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Lyra answered. “How hard is it, truly, to not hurt other people? I don’t believe Dejah and I are asking for anything that’s impossible. Simply don’t harm one another. Live your life and let others live theirs.”

“You know what happens out there,” Beth said, gesturing with her hand. “It’s a world of men, and we’re just there for their pleasure. No matter how sick and twisted it might be.”

“I have seen it,” I said. “Since I came to this land, people have tried to kill me many times. To rape me.”

“You’ve been raped? You?”

I looked at Tansy.

“I was not penetrated but I was . . . violated.”

“It’s not the same,” my sister said. “But still an act of evil. A sorceress of the Red God seduced Dejah with her magic and tried to burn her as a sacrifice.”

“I saw the red priestesses, and priests, in Tyrosh,” Beth said. “What happened?”

“I broke the spell,” Tansy said, “and Dejah burned the sorceress instead.”

“How did you break the spell?”

“Tansy truly knows how to kiss,” I said, remembering our sexual encounter, and continued. “It is not only men who do evil. In my short time here I have met evil women, like Melisandre the priestess or Queen Cersei, and I have met good men, like Howland Reed and Davos Seaworth. I will promise you, Beth. I will kill anyone who wishes to hurt you or any of my other sisters.”

“I’m not your sister, only your cousin by adoption.”

“Dejah likes you,” Lyra repeated. “Some of our ways are new to her. I won’t pressure you, but I hope you’ll embrace your Mormont side.”

With the sun setting, Tansy brought out a large candle we had found in another chamber of the castle, having lit the wick from the fire in the kitchen.

“Can you cook?” she asked Beth.

“I don’t know. I never have.”

“You can’t be worse at it than Dejah,” Tansy said. “We all share the work, even the princess. It’s the Mormont Way. The Night’s Watch stores should have some clothes to fit you, or you can go naked like Dejah.”

“It is true,” I said. “I do not like to wear clothing.”

“I think I’ll wear clothes for now,” Beth said. “There are some things I’d rather not show.”

Tansy nodded.

“Will she need a new horse?” Jory asked, looking at me.

“Why do I need a new horse?”

“Ser Davos told you of our journey?” I asked.

“Not much,” Beth said. “He said you’d tell me what you thought wise.”

“Ser Davos is a good man,” I said. “We ride across the North, seeking survivors and looking for any Others who might still live.”

“Four women?”

“Five,” Lyra said. “If you wish.”

“I wish,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.” 

* * *

Since my sister Tansy did not allow me to prepare food, it fell to me to clean the dishes. A strange fate for a princess, but one I did not mind. My sisters found my demands to boil water odd, and I was not sure they always followed my wishes in this regard. By cleaning the utensils myself I could be sure; I had been taken gravely ill by the microbes of this world once and had no wish to repeat the experience.

Wealthier people of this place often ate off what they called “trenchers,” stale loaves of bread hollowed out to hold fresher food. The discarded trencher could then be fed to the poor or the pigs, two interchangeable groups in the mind of the nobility. Actually, the pigs stood higher, as they could be eaten while these lands had a strict social prohibition on the consumption of human flesh. Castle Black had a very nice set of wooden platters, bowls and cups. I now washed them with liquid soap I had found in the kitchens.

While I washed, I put a large vat of fresh water on the stove to boil and stoked up the fire beneath with additional wood. I enjoyed building and feeding fires; in the thicker, oxygen-rich atmosphere of this planet they burned so much more easily than was the case in the thin air of Barsoom.

In Helium I would never have imagined myself working as a scullery maid; I do not believe that I even knew that such people existed but they must have. Food appeared, I ate it, the dishes disappeared. They must have gone somewhere, because they appeared again with food upon them the next day.

I cannot say that I enjoyed the work, but I found it satisfying to do something useful with my hands at the end of the day. When the large vat of water began to boil I dropped the cleaned dishes within for a final round of disinfecting, just to be sure. Some of them tried to float and I pushed them under with other utensils to hold them in the hot water. I realized that the wooden items would eventually split from this treatment, but the castle had plenty more in case that happened.

The wagon drivers arrived, escorted by six Mormont soldiers led by Jarack, just as I finished. Jarack and I agreed that his men and the drivers would stay overnight in Castle Black and we would all load the wagons the next morning. I showed him the loads we had prepared, and emphasized the precious nature of the books from the library. He foresaw no problems fulfilling my wishes, and hoped he could be back on the road by afternoon, but hesitated.

“Beth Cassel is here?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” I said. “She rode in earlier today.”

“She refused to camp or ride with us,” Jarack said. “She’s the Lady’s niece. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her.”

“I know,” I said. “You are a good man, Jarack.”

Now I paused, searching his odd expression, and then his thoughts.

“Trisha told you,” I said, having picked this from his mind.

“She did,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say anything.”

“Lady Mormont has said nothing?”

“Trisha thought you hadn’t been asked yet.”

This was true; I had accepted within my own mind and overlooked this formality.

“She is correct,” I said. “Should Lady Mormont ask, I will accept.”

“Oh, she’ll ask,” he laughed. “The Lady knows what we want. It’s not been the same since we lost Lady Dacey, like a black cloud of shame and defeat’s been hanging over us. Now there’s not a soldier among us won’t be pissing himself with joy. Begging your princess’ pardon.”

“We have fought together,” I said. “You protected me from arrows. You never need beg pardon from me for speaking from the heart.”

I slapped his shoulder, the gesture of respect on Barsoom, which startled him so I held out my hand. He clasped my forearm and grinned as though his mind had been damaged.

“Wish I was going with you on your adventure,” he said. “But I’m thinking there’ll be plenty more of them to come, with you on the island.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, a dangerous revelation.
> 
> Note: Beth Cassel's age is unclear in the books; she does not appear in the show. Here she's about the same age as her friends Sansa and Jeyne, older than Jory but younger than Lyra.


	52. Chapter Thirty-Seven (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris rides in search of gold.

Chapter Thirty-Seven (Dejah Thoris)

All five of us women piled into the Lord Commander’s wide bed that night as had become our habit. Beth lay between Lyra and Jory with her tunic on and slept fitfully; her nightmares woke me more than once and at one point Lyra awoke and re-assured her that she was now safe.

We woke with the sun, and Beth followed the four of us out of the castle to the open area covered with small stones we used for our exercises. I had taught Lyra and Jory the movements we perform in Helium, which begin slowly and gain speed and complexity. They are intuitive, and Beth caught on quickly.

Tansy turned back toward the castle after we had finished.

“Jory and I will see the wagon train off,” she said. “You three can have your first lesson.”

“What about the ravens?” Jory asked.

“Ravens?” I only knew of Tansy’s raven.

“There are still six of them living here.”

“Can you tell them to fly to Bear Island?”

“I’ll try. They may want to carry messages before they’ll fly.”

“Tell Maege what we have done, that Jarack is on his way and that Beth Cassel has joined us.”

Our sisters left us, and then I faced Beth, not knowing that this would be the first of thousands of such sessions.

“No swords?” she asked.

“Not yet. We will work on reactions, and I will form an idea of your abilities.”

I pulled off my dress; I wore cloth leggings cut off about halfway down my thighs under it. Lyra, dressed similarly, did the same.

“Remove your tunic,” I said. “You may keep your leggings on.”

“Are you sure? I’d rather not.”

“I need to watch your muscle reactions. And it is the way of my land, and the style of fighting we will study.”

“I . . .” she hesitated. “All right.”

She put her hands to the hem of her tunic and pulled it over her head in a single, swift motion. She hunched over, her arms over her chest, then grew resolved. She placed her hands on her hips and put her shoulders back.

“You have a beautiful physique,” I said, trying not to stare at her well-defined muscles, flat abdomen and especially at her high, firm breasts. They were covered in the small spots known as “freckles,” with pink areolas. I managed to keep speaking normally. “You have no cause for shame.”

I realized even without reading her thoughts that she must have been forced to display her breasts for her captors in a very similar fashion; it was I who felt shame for having eyed her in the same manner. Likewise, I had been captured by enemies of Helium more than once, and forced to show them my breasts, or been chained with my hands over my head to the same effect. I had been insensitive. And then she turned around. Thick, red scars criss-crossed her back.

“That was thoughtless of me,” I said. “I did not wish to shame you.”

“I didn’t think that you did.”

She faced me again, and I had her hold her arms stretched toward Lyra. They went through several agility drills as I observed, and I found that she had outstanding coordination. She was not as fast as I, with my enhanced abilities, but she was probably faster than Lyra and possibly matched my own raw speed before I came to this planet. As I had been bred for superior skills, I found this most impressive.

“You have trained before.”

“Not really,” she said. “My father trained the young soldiers in Winterfell and I copied some of the exercises in secret.”

“He was a superior swordsman?”

“He taught all of the young Starks, Jon Snow, the Winterfell guards,” she said with pride. “Other lords sent their sons to him for training.”

Jon Snow had shown great skill with a blade; had he matched it with discipline my sister and I would not have lived, even with my sword set aflame.

We worked for about two of what these people call hours, and then it was time to join the real work. The wagons were almost completely loaded, and the three of us helped our sisters and the drivers secure thick canvas covers over the top of their loads. We ate Mid-Day Meal with the soldiers and drivers among the wagons, some bread and cold meat, and as it appeared that we would not be ready for several more hours I told Jarack that we would all set off at first light.

* * *

Several hours of daylight remained when we finished with the wagons. Jarack, his soldiers and the wagon drivers decided to bathe while they could and we five women climbed the massive set of stairs to the top of the Wall.

“What will become of all those lands?” Jory asked when we finally stood at the parapet facing northward.

“Not much,” Lyra said. “There’s so much empty land south of the Wall, cleared farmland and pasture, that very few will want to settle there. My guess is it reverts to wilderness.”

“So not much different than it is now,” Beth said. “Just not quite as frozen.”

“Someone will come here,” Tansy said. “Someone always does. To trap for furs if nothing else.”

“I killed an ice dragon,” I repeated. “A not-dead creature. That means they did not all die when the Wall pulsed. There could be more of them.”

“It does seem too easy,” Beth said. “Kill Jon Snow and all of the Others, all their creatures, die too.”

“Easy?” Tansy asked, but she smiled. “I was almost sliced open by a dead girl. There was nothing easy about it.”

“Many things had to happen exactly the right way,” I said. “And I do not think I would have defeated the not-dead Jon Snow had the not-dead Sansa not sacrificed herself to set my sword aflame.”

“So the Others could still be out there,” Jory said. “Waiting. Sleeping.”

“Yes,” I said. “And soon there will be no Wall to stop them.”

* * *

That evening we had our final meal in the Castle Black common room, a thick stew Lyra made from a trio of small furry animals called “rabbits” that she had shot with arrows. The predators who normally pursued them had not returned to these lands, and the rabbits had become overly bold. Their meat was rather stringy, but I would make no complaint about anything that came from my beloved adoptive sister’s hands.

“In the stories, the heroes snare or shoot rabbits whenever they feel a hunger,” Lyra said. “In the real world, the little fuckers are damned hard to hit with an arrow.”

Jory caught my eye and asked silently if she should take Beth to prepare the horses and allow me to talk privately with Lyra and Tansy. I nodded slightly.

“You never told me,” she said to me aloud, “whether Beth needs another horse.”

“I believe that she does,” I said. “Her horse is weak and old, but he has a good spirit. Let him serve as her pack horse and help her pick two good riding horses from the Night’s Watch corral.”

The horses in the corral were those we had found on our way to Castle Black; those belonging to the Night’s Watch had been killed or had fled. Most of those in the corral had worked for farmers, but the small herd included several fine riding horses from a breeder just south of the castle. Those we did not take with us on our “ranging” would return to Winterfell with the wagon train.

“Also please take her to the Night’s Watch clothing storage and select new leggings, tunics and a cloak. Whatever she feels she needs for a lengthy ride.”

“Armor, too?”

“Yes, chain mail and a padded gambeson under-tunic. For myself and for Lyra as well.”

Jory smiled at Beth and gestured, and the two younger women left us.

“Well?” Lyra said. “That was no coincidence. What do you want to say about Beth?”

“How well do you know her?” I asked.

“She’s family.”

“I understand. Yet she grew up separated from you.”

“We saw her about every other year,” Lyra said, “when we visited Winterfell. I last saw her when King Robb called the banners for war and we assembled at Winterfell.”

“Do you trust her?” Tansy asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Beyond her bloodlines.”

“I know better than to lie in front of a mind-reader,” Lyra answered. “I trust Beth. She’s as Mormont as me or you.”

“I only wanted to hear that from you,” I said.

“I’m not upset with you,” Lyra said. “You should protect us from danger. She’s no danger.”

“You want to take her with us?” Tansy said. “You’re the eldest Mormont here.”

“ _We_ are the eldest Mormonts here,” Lyra said. “We’re sisters in every way. It’s not up to me alone, and besides Ser Davos appointed Dejah to lead us. But I do want to take her. We can’t very well leave her here, and she won’t want to go back with a wagon train and 22 men.”

“Like you said yesterday,” Tansy said. “Dejah likes her.”

“She is a troubled woman,” I said. “Her nightmares are difficult for me to bear. But I do like her, and you both heard Lord Reed’s prophecy of a third woman fighter wielding Valyrian steel.”

“Is she a good fighter?” Tansy asked.

“She knows nothing,” I said. “But she has a strong body, amazing hand speed and very fine coordination. Lyra and I will make her a good fighter, perhaps an outstanding one, and it is better to fight as a group of three than one of two.”

I placed my fingers on the table to represent the formation.

“One takes what we call ‘the point of the sword,’ with the others covering each of her flanks. Together the group can change direction easily, which is more difficult with only two.”

“I think I actually understood that,” Tansy said, smiling. “So we’ll keep her.” 

* * *

We arose early the next morning and performed our exercises in the light of dawn, eerily reflected off the ice of the Wall. Afterwards we prepared First Meal for ourselves and the wagon train men, then waved as they rolled out of sight toward Winterfell.

I worked with Beth afterwards while the others assembled our horses and baggage, fencing with long wooden practice sticks I had found in the castle’s armory. Despite the rage deep within her, she took to the study and the exercises themselves with relentless good humor. Every time I knocked her down – and I knocked her down often – she leapt up with a ready smile. I had never liked teaching, whether science or swordsmanship, but I discovered how fulfilling it can be to instruct an eager, receptive pupil.

While I planned to mostly teach her the fighting style of Helium, I emphasized that even in Westeros where few had seen me fight, a good fighter would recognize patterns. One had to avoid giving hints of one’s own movements while detecting patterns in one’s opponent. This was of course far easier when one could read another’s thoughts, but Beth would not have that advantage.

After our practice we walked back to the castle to wash ourselves and prepare to ride out on our ranging.

“When do we work with real swords?” Beth asked.

“A weapon is distracting, and requires respect,” I said. “You need to work on many basic techniques first. I retained several good swords from the Night’s Watch’s armory, and we will choose one that is right for your hands and height.”

“What about the one I brought?”

“It is not a very good sword.”

“And you know that because . . .”

“I inspected your belongings when you first arrived,” I said, “when I put away your horse.”

“And you will not apologize for that.”

She spoke it as a statement, not a question.

“I will not. I did not know you. My sisters’ safety is paramount to me. As is yours as well.”

“Fair enough. But you still don’t know me.”

I stopped walking and turned to her.

“Not as well as I would like,” I said. “But I like what I know so far.”

“You may come to regret that.”

“Only if you keep saying things like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“To fight, to win, to survive you need one thing,” I said. “Not strength. Not speed. Confidence. You have a great deal of rage, but little confidence.”

“I will learn everything you teach me.”

“So you might,” I said. “And I still would not willingly fight alongside you. You do not believe you deserve to survive. And if you do not believe that, then you will not.”

She sniffled. I put my hand alongside her face.

“I do not say these things to be cruel, like some bitter old swordmaster out of a story playing a game with her trainee. I train you because I believe that you can master these arts. But you have to believe it as well.”

She nodded. I slapped her gently.

“Come. I am hungry.”

She fell into step beside me.

“My father would have told me how worthless I am,” she said, “trying to make me angry. At least that’s the way he trained men and boys.”

“It is how I was trained as well. But it is not my way. You have seen the scar on my back. Black Walder Frey stabbed me there. I do not wish to be stabbed there again, or anywhere else. I am training you to be sure that never happens.”

“So this is all out of self-interest.”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

We rode out of Castle Black not long after; I regretted abandoning the commander’s warm bed but felt relief to depart a place where so many had died so violently. Lyra, Tansy and I rode in front, with Beth and Jory behind us.

“We have a map,” Jory said. “Where are we going?”

“I thought to ride eastward along the edge of the Wall,” I said, “to seek out Others and determine where they broke through.”

“I’d assumed they came through Castle Black’s tunnel,” Lyra said. “At Jon Snow’s invitation.”

“That is likely,” I said. “But we should make sure.”

“Can I offer a suggestion?” Beth asked. I held up my hand and everyone halted.

“Of course,” I said. “This is not a military expedition.”

“The Dreadfort.”

She wished to burn it to the ground.

“The castle of the Boltons,” I said. “Where you were held captive.”

“You mean raped and tortured.”

“Yes. I do not wish to distress you.”

“It’s alright, between us at least it is. It’s where I was held, and I’d like to set it all on fire.”

“I will gladly help you do this,” I said. “But should it be the first place we visit? It is far, is it not?”

“It is,” she confirmed. “But there’s another reason. Gold. The Boltons may have been richer than the Starks before the war, and they added to that when they looted Winterfell of its gold and probably other castles, too.”

I enjoyed looting, and looked forward to seizing the Bolton treasure. I did not know how my sisters would feel about this.

“You’re tempting me,” Lyra said. “You know about Bear Island.”

“Nothing but bears, trees and fierce women, they say,” Beth answered. “They don’t say anything about gold.”

Conversation paused for a few moments as we all thought about the treasure.

“I know you looted Castle Black’s treasury,” Beth prodded. “You’re all far too thorough to have taken the books and the fireplace dogs but left the money behind. Probably did it before I got there.”

“Maege took the money to Winterfell,” I said. “And from there to Bear Island.”

“Then why not take the Dreadfort’s gold as well?” she asked “We’re not the only ones who know about it.”

“I don’t think anyone here actually needs convincing,” Lyra said.

“Not me,” Jory and Tansy chorused together.

“We ride for the Dreadfort,” I said, raising one finger into the air. “To take its gold and burn it to the ground.”

“Burn!” agreed Tansy’s raven from his perch on her pack horse. “Burn! Burn!”

“Is the castle empty?” Tansy asked.

“Ser Davos believes so,” Beth said. “He’s been sending ravens to all of the strongholds in the North. The Dreadfort, Karhold and Last Hearth have answered none of them, and the ravens returned still bearing their letters.”

“Sansa’s army killed a great many Boltons,” Lyra said. “And we killed the rest. Even if the dead never reached the Dreadfort, there can’t be many Boltons left. Bolton men at least.”

“If so,” I said, “I will climb the walls and kill them.”

“What have the Boltons done to you?” Tansy asked, amused at my determination.

“Nothing,” I said. “Ramsay Bolton insulted my throwing style, but I killed him. The other Boltons harmed my new sister. They must die for this. Unless they are dead already.”

I did not exaggerate my desire to slaughter this horrible family and their minions. When Beth re-lived the rapes and the torture in her mind, so did I. I had experienced similar memories from Jeyne and Willow Heddle soon after my arrival on this planet. But they had both been dying and their thoughts fading. While I was better prepared for such memories now than I had been then, Beth Cassel’s were even more horrific, if one could even classify such depths of pain and terror. I deeply wished a slow and painful death upon those who had harmed her.

“We’re not really sisters,” Beth corrected me again. “I’m only your apprentice.”

“Lyra says you are my sister.”

“I have to earn that.”

“Fair enough,” Lyra said, interrupting this pointless argument. “I don’t doubt that you will.”

Jory had unfolded the map.

“We head south,” she said. “Down the King’s Road at first, then we turn onto the road to Last Hearth, seat of the Umbers. And from there a road goes down the Last River before cutting south to the Dreadfort.”

“How far?” Lyra asked.

“At a guess, 15 to 20 days’ ride. I’ve never seen a map of Westeros with a trustworthy scale of distance.”

We headed southward along the King’s Road. It appeared that the snow had begun to melt, but I could still see the hoofprints and runner tracks from our journeys to and from Castle Black.

“How much gold,” Jory asked, “do you think they have?”

“The North isn’t rich,” Tansy said. “And most taxes are paid in kind.”

“In kind?” I asked.

“I went over the figures for Sansa, before, you know, what happened. Most houses are cash-poor, and the smallfolk even more so. House Manderly always paid in hard coin, as did the Boltons. Most of the others paid Winterfell at least in part with goods instead: grain, livestock, timber, that sort of thing. Bear Island paid exclusively in dried fish, woolen clothing and furs.”

“So even the ‘rich’ might not have gold,” Lyra concluded the thought.

“That’s right,” Tansy said. “’But I think they do, at least some. The Boltons paid their taxes in coin, and Ser Davos said they paid their troops and the houses that supported them in gold.”

“That could have been Lannister gold,” Lyra said.

“Perhaps that’s even likely. But that would mean they have gold, or at least they had it at some point, from wherever it came.”

“You want to take their gold,” I said to Tansy.

“Of course I do. I might not be a whore anymore, but I still lust for the shiny stuff. And you and I should give something back to the Mormonts.”

I agreed with my sister. As on Barsoom, one could solve almost as many problems here with money as one could with a sword.

* * *

As the sky started to darken, we reached one of the shelters the Night’s Watch maintained along the King’s Road to aid travelers. No inns operated this far north, for there was not enough traffic to keep them in business. The shelter was very simple, with a sloping roof open on three sides and a large stone hearth built into the back wall with an iron grate for cooking. Someone had filled the nearby bin with cut firewood. A small stable stood nearby, also built with a sloping roof and only one short wall. Raindrops began to fall as soon as the shelter came into sight.

The very idea of water falling out of the sky still fascinated me, and I could stare at it for hours at a time. Rain existed on Barsoom; I had read of it and seen video but never experienced the rare phenomenon in person. I longed for a flying craft, any sort of flying craft that would allow closer study. I presumed that moisture in the air collected around a catalyst of some sort, probably a dust mote, and fell from clouds as rain when it reached a critical mass. It would make for a series of fine papers: not only how it occurred, but how it might be transplanted to Barsoom.

I realized that for the first time I had considered a reversal of the star-goddess effect, bringing something back to my planet from this one. But as I watched Tansy remove the tack from her horse, I found very little desire to return to my own planet, were it even possible. Instead I watched the rain; as intriguing as I found the science behind it, the sheer beauty of falling water captivated my mind.

Beth had to wave her hand in front of my face to let me know she had warmed some of the food we had brought from Castle Black: the last chickens of the Night’s Watch, nicely roasted, and some still-fresh biscuits. I ate it happily while continuing to watch the rain, but then darkness fell and it was time for sleep. Beth hesitated to join us under our large blanket.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You shared our sleeping furs the last two nights,” I told her. “You are welcome to do so again.”

“I was exhausted, and didn’t really think about it.”

“Beth, it's just us,” Lyra said. “You’ve known us for, how long?”

Beth Cassel sat cross-legged next to my head. I rolled my eyes back to look at her.

“I don’t dislike you,” she said to me. “I’m just nervous. About everything.”

“Relax and curl up between me and Dejah,” Tansy said. “It’s like sleeping right next to a fire. She’s warmer than a horse. It makes up for all the talking she does in her sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m frightened. You decide there’s no future and suddenly, you have a family and a purpose. And you feel like you should be grateful but there’s this fear that blots out the joy.”

Surprised, I sat up, letting the fur fall to my waist.

“I know exactly how this feels,” I said. “I felt lost and abandoned. And then I found Tansy, and later we became Mormonts. It still frightens me, and sometimes I wonder if all of this is really happening.”

I could see her nod in the faint light of our banked fire.

“It’s all so sudden,” she said. “I had nothing. I was nothing. And then I ride up and suddenly you’re calling me your sister, and acting like you mean it.”

“I do mean it. I do not mean to overwhelm you.”

She shrugged off her black Night’s Watch tunic and lay down next to me; I lay down as well.

“Safe with you,” she whispered, snuggling closer.

“Safe with you too,” I whispered back, not knowing that we had begun a private ritual that would last for many years. 

* * *

The nightmares returned, and eventually Lyra moved to Beth’s other side to comfort her. While I could screen them out when awake, it is far more difficult to edit what one receives of another’s dreams while sleeping. This sort of mental illness – at least it would have been classified as a mental illness on Barsoom – would have been easily treatable by expert psychologists aided by telepathy. Here, Beth had to live with her trauma by herself. I suspected Tansy carried some similar trauma of her own though I hoped not as severe; she had never shared the details.

When the sun rose the rain had stopped, and we performed our exercises. Then Lyra sparred with Beth, while I took my turn tending the horses - Tansy still would not allow me to prepare food - and cut enough firewood to replace what we had burned, though Myra could not say when anyone might come this way again. After a First Meal of dried fruit and fried bread, we set off again southward.

As we rode down the empty King’s Road, I found myself not only at peace, but happy. The need to find John Carter grew ever less pressing; I still felt obliged to my grandfather, but as I grew at ease in the love of my new family, I began to see that my old one had placed unreasonable demands upon me. John Carter was not happy with me, nor I with him. Neither of us could be sexually satisfied with the other, and our different bodies made that an insurmountable problem.

I had admired him as a hero, but distance now made me recognize a deep-seated brutality within him, one notable even in as violent a society as that of Barsoom. My grandfather Tardos Mors had been well aware of this, I now saw, and considered it a positive quality. And perhaps a ruler needs someone capable of harsh actions, ready to undertake unpleasant duties without hesitation. But Tardos Mors had not been forced to remain married to that person. I had.

Freed of John Carter, I enjoyed the opportunity to marvel at the bright and strange colors of the life around me. The first two days of our ride took us through open ground, with grass, stones and low-lying shrubs with wide stretches of small purple flowers. The spread of life, and its tenacious hold on every possible surface, fascinated me just as had the falling water. Even the rocks usually had thin coatings of tiny plants clinging to them. Barsoom is not like this; vast stretches of the low-lying plains that once held oceans now support very little life at all, only red rocks and red stones as far as one can see with only the occasional gray stone to break the monotony.

The basic chemistry of life here and on my home world did not differ that much; I suspect that the red chlorophyll of my home planet is more efficient in our thinner atmosphere, where more solar radiation reaches the surface, but is otherwise not very different from the green chlorophyll of this planet’s life. We have a few green plants on Barsoom, and I had already seen a handful of red-leaved plants thriving here, most notably the giant white trees with carved faces that the Northern people worshipped as gods.

The King’s Road supposedly made up part of the greatest highway in this land, yet once we left the Night’s Watch’s territory it became an unpaved track that even disappeared at times. No inns or taverns were to be found along the way, and I saw no signs that any had ever existed. As darkness fell for the second night I spotted the tumbled remains of what looked to have been a roadside shelter, but in the dim light of the gloaming I saw what looked like spiders within. I detest spiders. I insisted that we ride on.

Jory spotted a small stream running down a steep mountain side, and we bathed in its cold waters. Afterwards we spread our blankets on a bed of the ubiquitous purple flowers and slept under the bright dome of stars while the horses dozed on their feet. When the sun rose they sought out grazing opportunities. They did not like the purple flowers or much of what grew in the meadow, but they had become loyal to me and did not stray far.

The road went by easily for the next several days, as we covered ground we had already passed on our way to Winterfell not long before. A sign marked the road to Last Hearth, though I still could not read their letters, and we veered onto a very similar track – I could not see what made this partially-overgrown cart track any different than the so-called King’s Road.

That evening, I learned the difference – this road had no shelters for travelers. We still were close enough to the Wall that wildling raiders had at times attacked isolated settlements, which kept most of these lands uninhabited. We had to camp under the trees rather than occupy someone’s abandoned home.

Still, I enjoyed the ride. I had plenty of time to ride alongside each of my sisters, though I now took care not to address Beth Cassel as “sister.” Either Lyra or I worked extensively with Beth every day after our morning exercises. I also started giving Jory some basic lessons in swordplay; she was not very good with a blade but I feared for her safety should Maege insist on again sending my little sister into combat. I would do my best to interfere with any such plans; I knew that Trisha would assist me but Lyra did not seem to share our worries.

Beth, by contrast, drank in everything I could think to teach her. She had marvelous natural skills, and as she grew stronger I emphasized the sword over the spear. Many women of Barsoom prefer the spear, as we lack the same upper-body strength as men, but I believed she would take to the sword more naturally and would only improve with more practice

Our ride continued. The forest came right to the edge of the road: thick, dark and foreboding. The trees were those Jory named as spruce and pine, and she said Bear Island had similar trees as well. Their thoughts were very slow, and somewhat unpleasant. They did not approve of humans intruding upon their solitude.

After several days we began to see forest cottages, and used these for our nightly rest. We saw some signs of violence, but none of survivors. I had so far detected no human thoughts other than our own, and only a small number of higher-order animals. We had picked up several additional horses along the way and one of the unreasonable hybrid creatures known as a “mule” who still insisted on following us. Jory gave the mule corn and it agreed to carry baggage for us. The raven objected to the waste of grain, but I overruled him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, a dangerous secret is revealed.


	53. Chapter Fifteen (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter begins to sample the conqueror's rewards.

Chapter Fifteen (John Carter)

I would have to leave a garrison in Qarth, and had chosen the leadership team. Temporarily Mormont would serve as viceroy, with 500 Unsullied plus Ko Motho and ten thousand Dothraki. I would also leave Vorsakhi, the eldest of the khaleen, and her friend Ayolli to enforce my will.

“You promised to send me to the Night Lands, John Carter,” Vorsakhi scolded when I dined later with the dosh khaleen. “You do not trust the Milk Men.”

“No, I don’t,” I agreed. “Jorah the Andal has little imagination, nor does Ko Motho. That should make it less likely they’ll have unfortunate ideas.”

“And leaving him here separates him from his screeching wife,” Vorsakhi smiled. “Making him happy, and you happy.”

“I don’t sample other men’s wives.”

“The Khal takes what he will,” the crone said. “It is known.”

“It is known,” Ayolli agreed, followed by the rest of the women. I chose to ignore Vorsakhi’s comment, though I felt a stirring in my loins at the memory of Lynesse Mormont’s exposed bosom.

“I’m leaving you one hundred men of my Companions as your personal guard,” I said, “who will answer only to you. All are swift riders, with swift horses, and you will send them to summon me should anything disturb you here.”

“We shall watch over Qarth, John Carter,” Vorsakhi said. “Your new laws will be obeyed. The Milk Men will learn to be men.”

* * *

We arrived at Meereen to find the city besieged by our own forces, and my wife besieged by a mercenary captain named Daario Naharis. I dismounted Demon outside her command tent and strode inside where I found the blue-haired mercenary on one knee before her, proclaiming his undying love for Daenerys. Only one handmaid accompanied my wife, a dusky-skinned young woman I had not seen before.

“My chieftain!” Daenerys cried, and flung herself into my arms. As I kissed her, I felt jealous rage from Naharis as he began to draw his sword.

“Take your hands off . . .” he began, his words dying as he felt the tip of Syrio Forel’s sword at his throat.

“No, no, no, Ser Sellsword,” said the swordmaster, who had entered the tent directly behind me. “One does not raise a hand against the Warlord. Let us drop that blade and keep our head, yes?”

Naharis dropped the blade, actually a Dothraki horse-arakh, and slowly raised his hands.

“I only sought to protect the princess,” he said in an oily voice. “I had no idea that John Carter had arrived.”

Had he apologized, or even shown deference, I might have spared him and put him to use. His arrogance, and desire for my wife, sealed his fate. He fully intended to kill me and claim my princess when he could do so without dying himself.

“Fogo,” I called to the young Dothraki, who I had given a minor command in my Companions. On this day he led the guards accompanying me. “Find a lance and impale this man, well out of sight and hearing of the khaleesi. See that he lasts to see the dawn.”

Two of my Companions dragged the protesting mercenary away as I kissed my princess again.

“I hope he was not a friend of yours, khaleesi,” Syrio said, returning his blade to its scabbard and making an ornate bow all in one smooth motion. He looked at me. “He was skilled enough to be worth my steel, but I did not wish to force the beloved princess to witness his death.”

“No,” she said. “Thank you. He had become . . . adamant in his demands.”

Syrio, sensing my wishes, bowed again and departed as did the new handmaid, leaving us alone.

“You’ve conquered two cities,” I smiled at my princess, “and I but one.”

“But you’ve conquered me. Am I not worth more than three cities?”

I kissed her again, and placed my palm on her bosom. She wore a tunic in the Qartheen style that bared her left breast. That sight inflamed my passion as it had that of Daario Naharis; his lust had cost him his life but unlike him I marital rights and I intended to exercise them.

“I’ve missed you, my chieftain,” my princess said; her agitated thoughts showed on her perfect face. “My advisors have forgotten their place. I am Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt! Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains and Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. I am rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. And these common barbarian scum defied me. I want them dead. I want their heads on spikes.”

“Who are these barbarians,” I asked, keeping my voice calm, “that you wish to see killed?”

“Rakharo, Aggo, Lizhi and your slut Rastifa.”

“And what is their crime?”

“They ignored my commands! I made plans for battle outside Yunkai and I made a peace agreement afterwards. And both times they simply ignored me.”

While on the road from Qarth I had read the report written by Rastifa, and those dictated by Rakharo and Aggo to scribes. Aggo as senior ko had retained command, as I intended, and leaned on the other two for advice, as I also intended. Rastifa slew the enemy’s champion in single combat to start the battle, deeply demoralizing the enemy. When Daenerys tried to commit the Unsullied in the front line to battle the Yunkai’i slave soldiers the three of them had overruled her and smashed the much smaller enemy force with a massed cavalry charge, with lance-armed Dothraki in the front ranks. Every enemy soldier had been killed or taken prisoner.

The city had then surrendered, and my princess insisted on handling the negotiations. She had demanded freedom for all slaves, and that they be allowed to leave with as much wealth as they could carry. The city’s self-styled Wise Masters could retain all of their remaining possessions and control of the city.

Lizhi immediately recognized that Daenerys had been badly outmaneuvered - whatever handfuls the former slaves could take, it was a barely noticeable fraction of the slave owners’ property. And the masters could not be left in control of the city. The city was the objective, not its slave population, which could not possibly be fed on the long march to Meereen and would overwhelm Meereenese resources should they somehow arrive here. The wily khaleen prodded the kos to once again overrule their khaleesi, and they quickly stormed the crumbling walls and put the city’s Wise Masters to the sword. Once again, I approved of their actions.

“They followed the will of their khal,” I said. “I command them, as I do you. I placed Aggo in command of the troops. Your task was to purchase the Unsullied, and you came back with more than I ever expected. I am very proud of you.”

“You don’t command me.”

“I certainly do,” I said. “When you became my wife, you became mine in every sense.”

I placed my lips over hers before she could answer; she struggled at first and then responded. I pushed her silken dress off her shoulder to let it drop to the floor and shrugged off my own Dothraki tunic and loose trousers.

“Don’t make love to me,” she whispered. “Don’t be nice to me. Fuck me hard. Use me just like you use Calye.”

And to my shame, knowing that those words had been planted by Doreah, I lifted her with my hands on her waist and she wrapped her legs about my thighs. I entered her, thrusting hard while she gasped. Soon she reached female hysteria even as I found my own release.

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “I’m yours, body and soul.”

* * *

While I had silenced my princess for the moment, I knew that I had a long-term problem. I would have to keep her close by my side, lest her delusions of authority take deeper hold. Though I had made it clear that I ruled the lands I had conquered, and would rule those yet to fall including Westeros, she continued to believe that she would sit the throne as a ruling queen.

I loved my princess. I adored my princess. She was beautiful, everything a man could desire. But she remained foolish in the ways of the real world.

The step-by-step emancipation of Qarth’s slaves had been deeply disruptive to the city’s economy and social order, as Xaro Xhoan Daxos had complained. The sudden change at Astapor and Yunkai led to far greater chaos, with tens of thousands dead in each city. Adoring throngs had called my princess their “Mother,” but she had been responsible for widespread, needless death and destruction.

I could not allow her to exercise independent authority again; the risk was simply too great. She had indeed brought me all of the Unsullied, an enormous stroke of good fortune. But she had also brought me at least 20,000 former slaves of Astapor and Yunkai, and at least twice that number lay dead along the road. We would be tethered to Slaver’s Bay for some time, unravelling the Meereenese knot my princess had tied.

First, I would need to review the situation at Meereen and stem whatever new problems my wife had created. With her by my side mounted on her beloved silver mare, I rode along her siege lines. The Unsullied had dug trenches that ringed the city, and Aggo had stationed his khas well back from the siege lines where their horses could graze. The freed slaves of Astapor and Yunkai meandered about, sheltering as best they could under hovels made of twigs and branches. Many were children, and many were clearly starving. If I did not get them food or shelter, and do so quickly, we would see plagues sweep through both these wretches and my soldiers as well.

A wide, slow-flowing brown river split the siege lines before it flowed into the city and out to sea; this feature could prove deadly if the defenders chose to sortie against just one-half of the besieging army but apparently their commander lacked energy, or troops, or both. The nearest ford lay two miles up-river from our trench lines.

The Hyrkoon regiment had dismounted and occupied the westmost end of the trench line. There I met Rastifa the Beautiful, and kissed her in front of her women as I had Daenerys; my princess disapproved but said nothing. Rastifa rode with us back to the command post, where I assembled my generals and advisors to plan the siege of Meereen.

Daenerys introduced me to a young Unsullied officer named Grey Worm, who she had placed in charge of the eunuch soldiers. He seemed intelligent enough, but had never seen combat until joining my wife’s army - like the other Unsullied acquired in Astapor, he had been in the depots there awaiting sale.

I greeted him, as well as Aggo and Rakharo, and got directly to business. Melennis had also arrived some days before me, and it pleased me to see my admiral present and ready for action.

“Tonight, well after darkness, the Unsullied and Hyrkoon will withdraw from the siege lines,” I said. “Orange Cat, you will bring our infantry brigades into the trenches in their place along with the crossbowmen. Keep half of your troops in reserve.”

The Unsullied nodded, but said nothing, as was his habit.

“Tomorrow, we begin construction of a bridge of boats across that river. Make it heavy enough to bear the armored cavalry or the camels. Ko Ogo, this will be your responsibility. Draw whatever men and tools you need. Take apart whatever nearby buildings you must if you need timber.”

“As you wish, my khal.”

“Lodovico will assume the post of chief of staff,” I said. “His nephew Giacomo will command the armored cavalry. Jorah the Andal will remain in Qarth as viceroy.”

Lodovico nodded, pleased with the promotion and his nephew’s elevation. It would give him the opportunity for graft, which I would not tolerate at the expense of the men and women fighting for me. If we lost a few coins beyond that, I would not quibble.

“Ko Jommo,” I said, addressing the former khal, now one of Aggo’s subordinates. “You will take 5,000 riders and find quarters for the freed slaves on the nearby plantations. Do not harm them, for they are now under our protection. Do not force the plantation owners to take in more people than they can support, but do not allow them to refuse, either. No one is to be returned to slavery; should this be attempted you may use whatever force you believe necessary to punish those who break this law. Can you do this?”

“I can do this, my khal. How long shall they remain there?”

“Until we have taken the city. Then we’ll move them into Meereen.”

He nodded, his dismay at receiving such a mundane task balanced by his pleasure at returning to independent command. I recalled that Jommo spoke only Dothraki.

“My princess,” I said, “might Ko Jommo have the services of your new translator?”

“Missandei is my valued companion, my chieftain. Might I go as well?”

I considered the request. Such a venture might salve the embarrassment of her recent tirade over the events at Astapor and Yunkai, and would allow her to imagine herself the benefactress of the freed slaves. It might also do her good to witness the consequences of her impulsive actions; the slaves might now be free in name, but they had been plunged into misery.

“Very well,” I said. “Belwas will go with you, and 100 Hyrkoon Companions.”

“Thank you, my chieftain.”

“Be aware that Ko Jommo’s word is final on all military matters.”

“I understand,” she said. “I will only look after the slaves. I am their Mother.”

I nodded, somewhat disturbed by those last words, and turned to other concerns.

“Ser Barristan,” I looked to the elderly knight. “It’s time you exercised independent command. You’ll take 10,000 of Orange Cat’s infantry south along the coastal road to Yunkai and Astapor, and five thousand Dothraki. Establish order and leave a garrison in each city. We’ll not have them become anything other than productive members of our new order. Send the Hyrkoon and Companions that Ko Rakharo detached to occupy them back to rejoin me here. The Honored Lizhi will assign two khaleen to accompany and advise you.”

“My lord,” Selmy said, bowing his head.

“Ko Qhono,” I addressed my chief scout. “Push out your patrols well to the north and the west. Let nothing take us by surprise. I also want to know if anyone approaches Astapor from the south.”

“My khal,” he said, imitating Selmy’s bow.

“Green Flea will command the Unsullied during the assault,” I said. “They will move into reserve, but within sight of the walls. Let the Meereenese see you and fear you.”

Now he nodded as well, mimicking Orange Cat.

“Admiral Melennis commands the fleet formerly belonging to Qarth,” I said. “How many ships did you bring?”

“Just one,” he said, “with forty-one more warships and twelve merchantmen awaiting your orders, thirty miles south of here.”

“How many marines?”

“Just under two thousand.”

“Meereen is a strong, fortified city,” I told my assembled staff. “Ko Rakharo has taken prisoners who tell us that it has a garrison of perhaps five thousand mercenaries and 12,000 Civic Guards. Strong Belwas slew the son of their commander in single combat before our arrival.

“We have no siege train, no wood to construct siege engines, and few skilled engineers to oversee that work in any event.”

“My chieftain,” Daenerys asked, “could we not drive some of the admiral’s ships ashore, and use their wood to build these engines of which you speak?”

“We have only three men with such experience, my love,” I said. “Two of them former sellswords now in our service, plus Ser Barristan. The Dothraki and Hyrkoon have never used siege engines. And our ships aren’t easily replaced. We’ll therefore take the city by trickery.”

* * *

Planning the assault took another day. Our fleet would approach the city, and tell the harbor master of Qarth’s fall. They would claim to be carrying refugees, and that they had turned away from Astapor and Yunkai after finding them occupied by the barbarian John Carter’s followers.

I knew that my Dothraki feared the sea, and so the assault would be made by the Qartheen marines and troops from our pike brigades. When the “refugees” landed they would rush the city’s harbor gates and pour through the city to open the landward-facing gates. We would be badly outnumbered, with only about four thousand men on the ships beyond their crews, but they would not have to battle the entire garrison. Moro would lead his khas along the shoreline and attempt to force their way through the harbor gates after the marines signaled their capture. Rastifa, Lodovico, Pono, Jhaqo and Aggo would target the other gates we had identified as possibilities for capture.

After some thought, I decided not to lead the harbor assault myself and entrust it to Melennis. The Qartheen needed a chance to prove their loyalty, and I needed to develop more commanders I could trust in action.

Daenerys made one request before she departed with Jommo: the Meereenese had crucified 163 slave children along the road from Yunkai, and she wished to do the same to 163 children of the city’s so-called Great Masters. I forbade the murder of children, but allowed that we would try the Great Masters and execute those responsible for the outrage in whatever manner my princess desired.

* * *

Lynesse Mormont appeared in my tent early the following morning as I bathed. She once again wore a Qartheen tunic baring half of her exquisite bosom and leaving her shapely legs visible from above her knees; I recalled that Lysene whores like Doreah and Calye dressed in similar fashion but did not wish to discourage her.

“You’ve no one to help you, my lord,” she said, her voice a seductive purr. “Let me wash your back.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but I can manage.”

I scanned the area just outside my tent; she had told my guards that we were not to be disturbed and they had accepted that the order came from me. Doreah had seen her enter and imagined my discomfort with dismaying accuracy; she found the situation amusing but I most assuredly did not.

“You deserve more than managing,” she said, kneeling alongside the large iron tub. She reached into the water. “Let me just find your washcloth.”

“Madam,” I said, “I have a wife, and you a husband.”

Her hand closed around my manhood, which, disobeying my commands, came fully erect under her touch. I tried to pull back, which splashed water on her white tunic, turning it sheer.

“And now you’ve gotten me wet,” she said, shrugging it off and smiling at her own word play. “I’ll have to let this dry.”

She tossed her clothing onto a nearby chair; she wore nothing underneath. Her skin was very pale, a perfect shade of cream.

“I can’t reach you from here,” she said, sliding over the edge and into the tub with me. “And I know you want this, you want me. I’ve never known a man like you, to need so many women. Let me be just one of them.”

“You have a husband.”

“Who isn’t here,” she said, straddling me. “Who doesn’t care. Who put me aside.”

She kissed me then, and to my shame, I kissed her in return. I put my hands on her waist, lifting her onto my manhood. Her bosom was as firm as it looked, and I kissed each breast in turn. They were far larger than those of Daenerys, not usually something I found attractive in a woman, yet they had a hypnotic power that I could not deny, that I could not resist. When Lynesse mounted me, I eagerly slid my manhood inside her.

Slowly she rode me, placing her hands on my shoulders and looking down into my eyes as she kissed me again. She fit me like a sheath, massaging my manhood as she moved. I felt my release, and then she shuddered; her thoughts revealed that unlike Daenerys she only pretended to reach her climax, but she did so very convincingly.

I had not been taken by a woman in such a fashion in a very long time. I felt both shame and ecstasy; Lynesse Mormont was a very satisfying lover. Perhaps Doreah had been right, the first time I encountered her. I had been a fool. I was in a new world, with new delights, and I now could discover no reason not to enjoy what I had earned.

* * *

I actually spotted the approaching fleet myself, while using my telescope - what the people here called a “Myrish glass” - to study the defenses of Meereen. The river looked to be a weak point, with large iron gates that opened to allow barges and even ocean-going vessels to proceed upriver. We could probably shatter it using gunpowder, though after killing the Undying we only had enough left for one more blast.

I need not have worried. The Meereenese greeted the Qartheen as reinforcements, and my new followers quickly secured both the harbor-facing gates and the fighting positions on the walls above them. Moro suffered no losses moving his khas into the city, and within less than half an hour more gates began to open and our other divisions stormed through them.

Within a few hours, a rider from Moro confirmed that the city had been secured. I rode into Meereen flanked by the just-returned Daenerys and Rastifa, with fifty Dothraki Companions on my left and fifty Hyrkoon on my right. Moro had lined the street with mounted Dothraki; sullen crowds silently watched us pass from behind the screen of horsemen. One could pick out the upper class Masters by their hideous hairstyles, brightly dyed and then shellacked in place in odd sweeping forms.

The Hyrkoon had secured the massive structure known as the Great Pyramid, and I took it as my headquarters. I learned later that it reached a height of 800 feet, which I believe is taller than any structure of my own home world. Like the other large structures of Meereen it was faced with garishly colored bricks, and it was topped by a huge, repulsive bronze harpy.

Meereen was dotted with other pyramids, though none nearly so large. Each was the seat of a family of Great Masters, and each also covered in many-colored bricks. Slaves kept the bricks clean, painting the city in a riot of color.

The topmost level of the pyramid contained a huge, luxurious apartment that I took for my own, the previous occupant having fled before our arrival. Along with my princess and her handmaids, I assigned rooms to Lizhi, Ornela, Calye, Rastifa and Lynesse Mormont. Belwas, Barristan Selmy and Syrio Forel took lodgings two levels down; the level directly below was given over to a huge, gaudily-decorated audience hall.

I could see that a ruler might easily become separated from his people; just walking up or down the 33 levels took more than half an hour. As in Qarth, I began the administration of Meereen by taking stock of the city’s military forces. The garrison had been larger than we had assumed, and about 7,000 mercenaries, 15,000 Civic Guards and 35,000 slave-soldiers had fallen into our hands along with 5,000 trained pit fighters.

I knew that I had been a pit fighter myself at some point, though I had no specific memories of the experience. It was enough to make me agree with my princess’ desire to ban the sport. I knew that such gladiators made poor soldiers, but they had few other skills to offer.

Slaves make poor soldiers as well. I allowed the slave-soldiers to enlist as new recruits or take their chances as free men; about 10,000 signed up and I assigned them to the infantry. I culled a few of the mercenary commanders, and to cow them I fought and easily killed their champion, a massive brute who called himself Bloodbeard, in single combat. Otherwise I spread them across the ranks of our infantry and cavalry regiments, with a choice of enlistment or death.

I dismissed the Civic Guard’s officers, almost exclusively younger sons of the Great Masters, and placed men selected from our infantry and cavalry to replace them. The rank-and-file would remain on duty, patrolling the city, but I advised my officers to be vigilant for treachery or treason.

Melennis reported that his marines had seized Meereen’s 22 warships intact, along with 12 more that had fled Astapor and Yunkai for shelter in Meereen. Over 400 merchant ships were in the harbor, and our squadron temporarily had the port closed while the ships were inspected to be sure that no Great Masters fled the city with their wealth.

* * *

Daenerys had created many problems for me, but she had achieved what I had considered impossible - delivering the full roster of Astapor’s Unsullied. Thirty-eight had been killed at Yunkai, and six more in the skirmishing in front of Meereen. That was 44 more than I wished to bury. The Unsullied could not be replaced; my princess had declared an end to slavery and destroyed the camps where they had been trained and killed the men who had trained them. No new Unsullied would ever be created; each man who fell in battle permanently diminished their ranks.

I had used the small number of Unsullied we extorted from Myr to train my new infantry. Now that we had 8,000 more of them, I intended them to form a separate division of our army. They would be our ultimate reserve, my equivalent of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard, their reputation alone enough to influence the course of battle simply by their presence. They would only be committed to combat at the greatest necessity, to assure a needed victory or stave off defeat. I certainly would not allow them to suffer losses acting as urban policemen; the former Civic Guard could perform that task.

My new apartments included a verdant garden, and I met there with Orange Cat, Green Flea and the man who had led the Unsullied from Astapor to Meereen, a rather young officer who had taken the name Grey Worm. We stood atop the city wall where we could look out over the neat rows of small white tents that marked the Unsullied bivouac. As always, Orange Dog sat quietly at his master’s feet; he had grown considerably since Pono had gifted him to the Unsullied commander.

“Grey Worm,” I began, “I’m told that my princess acquired all trained Unsullied, plus those not yet finished.”

“That is true,” he said. “There are 2,594 who have not earned their spiked cap.”

“Who trains them?”

“They have not trained since leaving Astapor. This one was given no instructions.”

I nodded, having expected this answer. The slave-masters who had trained the boys would have been slaughtered during the fall of Astapor. My princess would no more have considered the training needs of the young Unsullied than she did food and water for the newly-freed slaves.

“Orange Cat will command all Unsullied,” I informed them. “Grey Worm will serve as his second, in place of Green Flea. Green Flea, I am placing you in charge of training the young Unsullied as well as the new regiments of foot. How many Unsullied do you need to complete this task?”

He pondered the question for a moment.

“How many new soldiers do you wish to enroll, Khal John?”

“Call it 20,000,” I said. “Many will be former slaves, needing a great deal of work to become soldiers.”

“This one will require five hundred Unsullied,” he finally said. “But this one must choose them. Not all are as well-spoken as this one or Orange Cat.”

“Train the young Unsullied to the same standard you received,” I said. “With one exception. The dog will not be killed. It will remain with its Unsullied companion.”

I knew that many Unsullied, including Green Flea, had followed the example of Orange Cat and acquired dogs of their own during our campaigns. Green Flea had of course named his companion Green Dog.

“The Unsullied will keep their dogs?” Orange Cat asked.

“Any Unsullied who wishes a dog of his own may have one,” I said. “You are slaves no longer.”

They all nodded, still unsure why the change in their status mattered.

“In the past,” I asked, “what became of Unsullied who grew old?”

“They were ended,” Orange Cat said, “when they could no longer fight.”

“Weak Unsullied can be defeated,” Grey Worm spoke up. “No one must think Unsullied can be defeated.”

“How long do Unsullied serve?”

“Until death,” Grey Worm said. “Or 25 years, when they are ended.”

“No longer will Unsullied be ended,” I said. “Twenty years’ service. Five more in the training camps. Then retirement.”

“Retirement?” Orange Cat asked.

“A time when one awaits death,” Green Flea said. “After one is no longer useful.”

“With pay for 25 years,” I pointed out, “that wait can be pleasant.”

“This one would rather be ended,” Grey Worm said. “Unsullied are not made to be idle.”

I had a great deal of work ahead before the Unsullied left behind their slave ways. But at least I had made a start, without impairing their fighting qualities.

* * *

The dragons had grown during my absence, reaching the size of a pony. My princess had neglected them, calling them her children but spending little time with them. She feared their fiery breath and their growing size, and like the base animals they were they detected this and showed her no respect. She allowed them to fly where they might in their hunt for food. Without discipline, I knew it only a matter of time before they roasted and ate children as well as sheep and goats, sparking hatred among our new subjects.

Knowing the potential danger of feral dragons, I spent at least an hour with them every morning, using my telepathy to form a bond and teaching them simple tasks as one would a dog. Just as a dog enjoys showing off his knowledge for his master, so did the dragons purr like cats for my praise, as I taught them to fly, land, sit, bow and breathe fire on command.

The dragons could be decisive weapons, but only if they remained under firm control. Allowed to turn rogue, they would be as dangerous to us as to any enemy. I had a strong feeling that I had taken them in hand just in time.

* * *

Reunited with my princess and with Rastifa the Beautiful, and having taken Lynesse as my lover as well, I had much less need for Calye, who now sulked. She still practiced with Syrio, who considered her a poor swordswoman but continued the work on my order, and she had claimed the duties of looking after my clothing and weapons. But I now used her for relief about once per week, less often than I summoned Doreah and much less often than I allowed Lynesse Mormont to display for me her impressive bosom and equally immense range of skills.

“Sweet Calye,” Daenerys addressed her one day, laying her hand alongside Calye’s face. “You’re not happy, are you?”

“I . . . I am, your grace,” Calye stammered. “I only . . . only wish to serve.”

“I know my husband has needs,” Daenerys went on. “And I’m grateful that you serviced him while we were apart. Let me show you my gratitude. Join us. I wish to see what it is about you that so entrances my husband.”

“Your grace . . . I, I . . . I don’t . . .”

“Leave her be,” I said. “She doesn’t want to.”

“You stand up for a slave before your wife?” Daenerys snapped. “I say nothing about Rastifa, Doreah or now Lynesse. They’re almost as beautiful as I, no one can question why any man would want them. But this? This, this creature? You shame me by taking it into your bed.”

She drew back her hand from Calye’s face and slapped her.

“You’re nothing,” my princess said, her face reddened. Calye began to cry. “Less than nothing. A slave too homely for the brothel. Doreah told me. I own you, and I’ll see you riding a pole whenever I wish.”

She drew back her hand to slap Calye again, but I caught her by the wrist.

“I told you to leave her be.”

“I own her!”

“No, I do. As I own you. Never forget that.”

“She murdered my brother!” Daenerys shouted. “Doreah said she seduced him and stabbed him during sex.”

“That’s right,” I said. “On my order. She’s the reason you’ll sit on your precious Iron Throne. Viserys was a fool who would never re-take Westeros. All of this - the armies, the status, the conquests - is because of Calye. You owe her your thanks, and your apology.”

“She’s a slave!” my princess raged. “She’s nothing! I’ll not apologize to her, no more than I would to a broken shoe.”

Now Daenerys burst into tears. “Murdering bitch!” she screamed before rushing from the room. Doreah turned to follow, but not before I saw the smile crossing her face, as she had intended.

“You . . . you defended me,” Calye sniffled. “She’s your wife. She . . . she wants to kill me. Have me . . . have me impaled.”

“If anyone kills you it will be me. No one else. And I don’t kill women.”

“It’s that bitch Doreah,” Calye said. “She hates me. She hates you, and she hates the princess. She’s turning her against you, to hurt you both.”

I laughed, dismissing Doreah’s whispering as the harmless grumbling of an unhappy slave. Had I listened to Calye, had I taken her fears seriously, perhaps both she and my princess might have avoided their fates.

“John, she’s not the . . . not the same as she was.”

Calye was right, but I chose not to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter is kind to dogs.
> 
> Note: Dejah Thoris has written a brief response to International Fanworks Day, which I've posted as is my duty as her chronicler. You can find it by clicking on my username.


	54. Chapter Thirty-Eight (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beth Cassel confesses her secret.

Chapter Thirty-Eight (Dejah Thoris)

Eventually we came to the castle known as Last Hearth. I could detect no thoughts within.

“Is anyone home?” Lyra asked me.

“No one,” I said, stunned by the emptiness. “Completely void of living beings.”

Last Hearth had no moat or drawbridge, only a heavy wooden wall reinforced at several points by stone towers. The gates had been blown inward by tremendous force, leaving their shattered remnants still attached to large iron hinges. Whatever had blasted them open had not been an explosive, at least not of the sort I knew, as they showed no damage from burns. Yet many of the heavy timbers had been shattered.

We dismounted and entered slowly in single file, stunned by the sights that greeted us. Lyra uneasily dropped to the rear of the procession and drew her sword. Inside the castle courtyard, bloodstains marked places where the inhabitants – hundreds of them at the very least, it appeared – had met their deaths. They had not gone without a fight, as evidenced by the burned places where I assumed that the not-dead had been set alight and turned to ash. But there were far fewer of these to be seen.

“No bodies either,” Tansy said from directly behind me. “Did they get up and walk away?”

“It appears so,” I said. “If we find them we should burn them.”

We left the horses in the courtyard; they did not like this place but I telepathically asked them to stay where we dismounted. We slowly walked up the wide steps leading to the castle’s main building; this was not strictly a fortified keep as I had seen in other fortresses of Westeros but could have served the same purpose.

A stack of torches had been left near the entrance; a few of them had burned but most had not. Apparently, the garrison had hoped to use these to fight the not-dead invaders. Jory struck a small flame with flint and steel, and we each took a lit torch and a spare as we slowly entered the building’s great hall.

“Who lived here?” I asked.

“House Umber,” Jory replied. “Known for their great height and a love for heavy drinking and hard fighting.”

The hall showed more signs of fighting: furniture strewn about, some of it burned, piles of ashes and many bloodstains. But once again, no corpses. I did not like this place.

“Did they pay their taxes in gold?” I asked Tansy.

“Rarely,” she said. “Almost always in kind.”

Looting Last Hearth would likely show no great profit.

“No one here is still living,” I said. “And apparently no one here is dead, either. Let us be gone.”

“We’re not spending the night here, are we?” Jory asked.

“By the seven hells no,” answered Lyra. “Let’s ride away as hard as we can and find someplace out of sight of this tomb.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Should we burn it?”

No one spoke until we were under the sun’s light again.

“Dead!” Tansy’s raven greeted us, sitting on a post used for tying up horses. “Dead! Dead!”

“We know,” she told it. “Should we burn this place?”

“Ride!” said the bird. “Ride! Ride!”

“I’m with the crow,” Lyra said. “Let’s mount up, ride, and leave it untouched.”

* * *

We rode hard for several hours until the horses needed rest and we dismounted to walk alongside them.

“What made Last Hearth,” Jory asked, “worse than Castle Black?”

I pondered this, but while I agreed that Last Hearth had been far more disturbing, I did not know why.

“The emptiness,” Tansy offered after we had all been silent a few moments. “Dejah and Maege had burned the bodies at Castle Black by the time you arrived there and the stains had been trampled. It just seemed empty. Back there at Last Hearth it was far too easy to imagine what happened. To imagine the worst that could have happened. Which is probably what happened.”

“How did you know?” Beth asked me as she walked her horse beside me.

“Know what?”

“That no one was inside. We didn’t search. There could have been survivors.”

She looked back at our sisters.

“None of you questioned that. What haven’t you told me?”

I thought for a moment, whether I should lie and if so, what that lie should be. The choice quickly fell out of my hands.

“Do you know what I’m thinking all the time?” Beth asked me, growing worried. I decided to answer truthfully, but stalled that reckoning.

“Why do you ask such an odd question?”

“We searched no villages or cottages, yet you declared them empty and everyone accepted that without question. And now you did the same with an entire castle. I’ve sparred with you many times now, and watched you spar with Lyra, and you know what we’re going to do before we do it.”

“I have told you that one must see everything that is there.”

“Yes. And you see more than that. You ask Lyra questions and she doesn’t answer, yet you walk away as though she did.”

Beth had become agitated, her eyes flitting between me and my sisters, one by one.

“Dejah,” Lyra said from directly behind me, “It’s time. Tell her.”

“Yes,” I said. “I can read the thoughts of others. It is an ability bred into royals among my people.”

“Every one of my thoughts is open to you?”

“Only if I concentrate. We learn from an early age to block out the thoughts of others. Those who fail to establish this skill can easily become mad. It is rude to enter the mind of another without permission and I try not to do so, but sometimes a strong thought is hard to ignore.”

“Can you make people see or think things?”

“Take over their minds?” I asked “No. It is as though I simply hear what they are thinking. I cannot project thoughts into the mind of a non-telepath. Some very powerful telepaths of my land can do so, but I do not have this ability. If I have a deep enough connection with someone, they would probably feel my emotions, but I doubt they would understand clear thoughts unless we had worked very hard to establish a bond.”

“Telepath?”

I had used John Carter’s word, as their language had no equivalent.

“One who can read thoughts.”

“All of you knew this,” Beth said, her voice strained, “and didn’t tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Lyra said. “I never meant to keep it from you, and I know Dejah did not. If we’d said anything when you first met her, you’d have thought us all mad.”

“You trust her in your thoughts?”

“I do,” my beloved adoptive sister defended me. “Mother adopted Dejah but I’ve chosen her to be my sister.”

“You know she’s not Dacey? She fights like Dacey, and has a name that sounds sort of the same, and she’s tall and dark-haired with big tits and long legs like Dacey. Like some storyteller’s changed Dacey a little to fit his own story. But she is _not_ Dacey.”

“ _She_ is standing right here,” I said, slightly annoyed.

Beth turned back to me, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but kind and keep offering love and acceptance that I push away. And then I find out you’ve been invading my mind, the most private and intimate parts of my being. That’s not right.”

Lyra gave her reins to Jory and strode forward to walk between us.

“Beth,” she said. “I know it’s very strange. Dejah had been injured when we first met and she lay in a deep disturbed sleep. Jory and I had the chance to get used to the idea that she understood thoughts before we had to speak with her.

“I know she’s not Dacey. But I love her. I’ll never love anyone like I did Dacey, but Dejah is my sister, too.”

“Are you sure? Or is she sending that into your mind?”

“To what end?” Lyra asked. “So she can see me naked and lay with me?”

“Seems like we do that every night.”

“I vouched for you,” Lyra said, now becoming irritated. “I told Dejah and Tansy we could trust you, because you’re family. And they trusted me. Now it’s your turn to trust me.”

We had stopped walking. Tansy gave her reins to Jory as well and joined Lyra between us.

“What’s the real problem here, Beth?” she asked. “Dejah’s direct and has no tact, but she’s only asked you to be her friend. She’s giving you the training that every knight in Westeros would sell his mother, or maybe even his horse, for.”

“It’s . . .” Beth looked toward the sky, her face turning red. A few tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. Then she looked at me. “You’ve read it anyway. Tell them.”

“I can only see what is currently in your thoughts. I cannot search through your mind looking for information. I only receive anger and confusion from you.”

And then I realized to what she referred, and as happened far too often the words spilled out before I could stop them.

“You think me beautiful, feel an attraction for me, and fantasize making love to me.”

“Yes.” She spat the word out, as though it had a foul taste.

I had shamed her. She admired me as a hero, much as Arya Stark had. And I had made her feel the less for it.

“It is my fault for intruding,” I said. “It is difficult for me to avoid reading thoughts, because telepathy is so much a part of the way we communicate in my lands. I depend on it to speak your language. But I will work to respect your privacy.

“And I found nothing objectionable. People in my lands have such attractions as often as they do between women and men. It is not a serious problem.”

“Not a serious problem?” Beth almost shouted. “We’re not in your lands. This isn’t some fairy-tale kingdom where women can fall in love with women and live happily ever after. They _execute_ people for what I just admitted. They torture them slowly and cut off pieces and then tie them up and burn them to death. All the while the crowd cheers.”

Jory left the horses to stand quietly on their own, which they did willingly, and came to take Beth’s hand. Beth resisted at first, trying to jerk it away, but our little sister was persistent.

“All of you,” Beth said, “are ganging up on me.”

“You think we’re under Dejah’s control?” Jory asked.

“No. I . . . I’m embarrassed. I’m ashamed enough of my private thoughts, my desires, my nightmares, everything. And now I know she knows them all. I love women. I’m an abomination by all the laws of gods and men. Dejah is everything I admire, everything I want to be, and she knows exactly what a reeking pile of shit lies inside me. The last person I would ever want to see who and what I really am.”

She looked at me.

“I’d rather you just kill me. Run me through and leave me dead by the side of the road.”

I knew I could not thrust this problem onto my sisters. I had to speak.

“I cannot read thoughts as well as you believe,” I finally said. “But I can read them. And as Tansy said, I chose you to be my friend, and I chose you to be my apprentice. And when you are ready, I will welcome you as my sister.”

“But you know about . . . about . . .”

“As I said, it is no sin in my lands. And these lands through which we ride have no law. I will kill any who think to harm you, whatever meaningless laws of non-existent gods they try to invoke as justification.”

I paused, thinking over my response.

“I was trained to keep my thoughts to myself, as are all telepaths. You were not. Everyone has base thoughts that they would be shamed to hear spoken aloud. I certainly have them. I shamed you by speaking your secrets. I have wronged you greatly and it is for me to beg your forgiveness.”

“You didn’t make me have those feelings.”

“Yet I saw those thoughts, and I spoke them aloud.”

“I’m not really upset with you,” she said. “I’m just angry. All the time.”

She began to walk down the road, and the rest of us fell in alongside her, with Lyra and I on either side and Tansy and Jory outside of us. The horses followed.

“You have good reason,” I said. “But I am not your enemy. I would be your friend.”

“All right. I apologize for my outburst.”

“And I for my rudeness.”

Lyra reached over and took her hand. This time, Beth let her do so without resistance.

“You’re still willing to call me family?” Beth asked her.

“We took in these two,” Lyra answered. “I’ve no regrets about any of you. None at all.”

“You may not wish to tell Mother just yet,” Jory advised. “About . . . you know.”

“I certainly don’t plan to,” Beth told her. “You haven’t said much.”

“What is there to say?” Jory answered. “When you see enough people die, the little things matter a whole lot less.”

“It’s not a little thing to most people.”

“True,” Jory said. “But Mormonts are not most people.”

Beth looked across me at Tansy.

“And you, Tansy?”

“I’ve told you what I was. That means I’ve lain with men and with women. Sometimes both at once.”

“That was for pay. And for your own pleasure?”

“The same.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“That’s supposed to be my question,” Tansy said. “I told you the truth the moment I met you: Dejah likes you, and I trust her judgment. And now you know why I trust her judgment.”

“I know it’s hard,” Lyra said. “It’s so easy to sink into despair and to hate yourself. It can get to feeling very comfortable.”

“What do you know of it?”

“Not as much as you, I won’t argue that. But I looked up to Dacey from as early as I can remember. I wanted to be just like her. To fight, to win, to fear nothing. And she died. She didn’t fall in glorious single combat, she was murdered at a wedding. Probably while she was dancing. No one really knows, we just know that she never came back, and they never asked for ransom.

“You’re not wrong. I probably do sometimes cling to Dejah as a replacement for Dacey, just like Mother does with Tansy. Fighting with Dejah against the Boltons, or at Moat Cailin, was like a childhood fantasy become real. Standing with her when she fought Corbray, I should have been frightened for her, but it was thrilling. I’d always dreamed of fighting at Dacey’s side. My sister’s side. And then I did, with Dejah.”

We had come across a small cottage that appeared undamaged. I saw no bloodstains, or piles of ash.

“Empty?” Lyra asked me.

“Yes,” I said. “Let me look inside.”

I drew my sword and cautiously advanced, pushing the door open with my foot. I saw a home that had probably been well-kept until someone left it in an extreme hurry. Clothing was scattered about, but there were no signs of death. I sheathed my blade again.

“It is still early,” I called to my sisters. “But there are no signs of the dead, or the not-dead. Just a hasty departure.”

“Feelings are hard,” Jory said. “I’m exhausted and I wasn’t in the middle of it. Can we stop and spend the night?”

“Of course,” Lyra said. “Beth?”

“I’ll be alright.”

Jory concentrated very hard, asking if she should stay with Beth. I inclined my head slightly. She nodded back, and suggested to Beth that they locate firewood and water.

I knew that Jory would take care of Beth, but I remained shaken by the entire confrontation, far more than I had been when fighting the Night’s King. I understood battle, and the rules were little different here than they had been on Barsoom. And when they did differ, I simply ignored them and applied the harsh standards of my home world.

I could not do the same for human relationships. As far as I knew, I was the only telepath on this planet, among a population that might reach into the tens or even hundreds of millions. I had not meant to shame Beth, and I had only told the truth, something I sometimes found easy to avoid. I did like Beth, I liked her very much, and I wanted to be her friend and her sister as I was with Tansy, Lyra and Jory.

The cottage had no stable, so I ran a heavy rope between two trees and tied our horses to it. They would not leave if I asked them to remain, but horses have a brief attention span and I knew that after a time their minds would wander and not long after their hooves would follow.

I thought about Beth as I took our tack off the horses, brushed them and worked on their feet. She found me attractive; most men did as did many women who liked other women. I liked her, I found her beautiful, and I would probably have enjoyed sex with her. Like most people, she was a contradictory bundle of emotion, her deep anger and resentment mixed with relentless cheerfulness. No one has a consistent personality, though many succeed in pretending otherwise, even in a world of telepaths.

Tansy soon joined me and took up a brush.

“Are you alright?”

“I do not know,” I said. “I did nothing wrong, but I feel shamed, as though I did.”

“This is what families are like. At least that’s what I’ve heard. I don’t know much more about it than you do, but I’ve dealt with far too many women who’ve been hurt like Beth has.”

“What becomes of them?”

“Nothing good, usually,” Tansy said. “A lot of them end up as whores. When I ran the brothel I tried to avoid bringing them on, because that trade only makes it worse for them. They end up committing crimes or dead or both.”

“I do not wish that for Beth.”

“Some things don’t heal, you know. But I don’t think that will happen. We’re lucky to have Lyra and Jory here. They’re so . . . normal.”

“Unlike us.”

“Of course that’s unlike us,” Tansy smiled. “Life would be pretty boring if we were all normal.”

“They are not normal for these lands.”

“No. I suppose I mean they’re undamaged. More or less.”

We brushed for some time; my mare turned her head sideways to show her pleasure. We fed the horses some of the grain known as “oats” that we had brought with us and gave them water from a bucket. Then Tansy spoke again.

“Don’t be so upset. Beth is very lucky to have found us. She’ll have a chance to get better. That wouldn’t happen anywhere else. She really would be left dead by the side of some road.

“But I’ve told you many times before. You can’t solve every problem by stabbing it.”

Lyra called to us before I could answer, and we went to wash ourselves before Evening Meal.

* * *

Lyra had found the smoked ass of a pig, a piece of meat known as a “ham,” and orange tubers called “sweet potatoes” even though they seemed unlike other potatoes I had seen. She had sliced them both and fried them together in a large iron “skillet.” The cottage had a rough wooden table that she had covered with a very nice white cloth, upon which she had laid out small serving platters and utensils.

“Lyra, this seems just like a family dinner,” Tansy said. “Thank you so much.”

My adoptive sister actually blushed, pleased at the praise. We took our seats.

“I need to apologize to all of you,” Beth began. “I know that every one of you wants me to be part of your family, and I want to be part of it, too. It just comes hard for me.”

She paused to drink some water; the cottage had had no wine.

“Perhaps it’s better this way. I never would have said that out loud without a mind-reader at the table.”

She gently touched the back of my hand.

“I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” I said. “I know that I am very different. Our sisters have accepted me, as they do you. I wronged you. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course I do.”

We ate quietly, and I enjoyed the food very much. I usually did.

“Might I ask you another question?” Beth asked as we finished.

“Of course,” I said.

“Is there anything else you haven’t told me? About you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your blood is blue, you’re as strong as three oxen and you can read thoughts. You weigh twice as much and eat three times as much as, well, an ox.”

“You compare me to an ox?”

“Am I wrong? No? There’s more. Horses obey your unspoken commands. Your body is as hot as a blacksmith’s furnace. You have complicated knowledge about some things and at the same time you know nothing of, well, just about anything else.”

“You observed all of that in less than one month?”

“You’re the one who told me to see what is there.”

“Dejah,” Tansy said, “is not of this world.”

“I can see that,” Beth said. “I’m not an idiot.”

“It took me far longer to realize,” Tansy said. “Not until she panicked over my moon blood and thought I was dying.”

“How much of your story is true?” Beth asked me, but smiled to show her good intentions.

“Most of it is true,” I said. “I truly am a princess. I came to Westeros seeking my husband, John Carter, and appeared naked in the forest. I am simply from much farther away than Sothoryos.”

“Where, exactly?”

“You have seen the moving stars that appear at night?”

“Yes.”

“One of them, possibly the red one, is my home world. At least it might be; I am not sure which one.”

“It’s a world like ours? Just very far away?”

“Yes. It is a very different world, and not quite as large as this one, but a complete world all the same. I know this is difficult to conceive.”

“No, not really,” she said, running one hand through her very light brown hair. Somehow, I found the gesture very attractive. “Dead people have been walking around and killing folk. Talk of other worlds seems far less strange now.”

“Does my origin bother you?”

“I begged you to train me, did I not?”

“You did not know then.”

“Dejah,” she began, and paused. “I may not have known that you came from another world. But I knew you weren’t like other women. That’s why I sought you out.”

Though we would leave this place forever on the next morning, I cleaned the dishes all the same, mostly out of habit. Beth joined me as my sisters prepared for sleep, and helped rinse.

“All of your people read thoughts?”

“Not really,” I said. “I spoke the truth when I said that I was bred for it. Royals can do so, some much more capably then I. Some commoners are quite powerful, but most have only a very weak ability.”

“Can you read the thoughts of animals, too?”

“Horses are almost telepathic. They are aware of my thoughts and can tell me things, even project thoughts to me if we have a connection. They are the only animal I have encountered with this ability.”

“Are they intelligent?”

“Not like a person, but they are smarter than most beasts.”

“What about other animals?”

“Ravens,” I said. “Ravens are highly intelligent, and understand human speech.”

“Know!” Tansy’s raven squawked from the window sill. “Know! Know!”

“Wolves are fairly intelligent as well and may be able to communicate by thought, as they can sense me. They fear me and stay well away. Bran Stark’s dire wolf could communicate with me, but I do not know if this ability extends to the smaller common wolves. For most animals I am aware of their presence, but only truly get a broad impression of hunger, fatigue, that sort of thing. I can sense that in trees as well.”

“Trees? Really?”

“Yes.”

“What do trees think about?”

“I do not know,” I said. “I only can sense vague activity in them, that they are satisfied or thirsty. I suspect that their thoughts move very slowly. Were I a tree, this would likely make more sense.”

“Do they feel pain?”

“I suspect that they do.”

“So we shouldn’t chop them down.”

“We kill animals for food and do not regret it. But as with animals, I think we should not cut down trees without need.”

She nodded.

“Waste is a sin.”

“There are no gods, so there is no sin. But there are things that are right and things that are wrong. And taking a life, even that of a tree or a rabbit, without cause is wrong.”

“I think so too,” Beth said. “About rabbits, anyway. And about the gods, or the lack of them. I’m still getting used to the notion of thinking trees.”

“There is one more thing I have not told you,” I said; I desperately wanted Beth Cassel’s friendship but I could not remain silent. “Then I think I am out of secrets.”

“Is it bad?”

“Yes.”

She drew in her breath and awaited my words.

“I killed Sansa Stark. Your childhood friend. I thrust my sword between her breasts and into her heart, and it ignited with flame. I also killed Bran Stark with a thrown spear. It lodged in his throat and he died.”

She released her breath, seemingly relieved.

“Lord Reed told me.”

“It does not anger you?”

“Jon Snow killed Sansa. You killed whatever monster he had made her, and she sacrificed herself just like Nissa Nissa so you could kill the Night’s King and save us all. Bran had become the Three-Eyed Raven; the Bran I grew up with died when he fell from the Broken Tower. You did nothing wrong.

“Like I said, I’m not angry with you. Only with me.”

When we undressed and joined the others in the large bed, Beth squeezed herself between Jory and I. She slept through until morning without nightmares, tightly pressed against me.

* * *

I usually arose first each morning, but found Lyra already awake and boiling water. We had none of the wonderful stimulant known as coffee, but she had found some tea made of fragrant dried flowers. We sat on the edge of the cottage’s small porch and drank tea while our sisters slept on.

“I meant every word, you know,” she said without preamble.

“Every word?”

“You’re my sister, every bit as much as Dacey was.”

“And I love you, as well.”

“I know.”

“Does it bother you too,” I asked, “that I can read your thoughts?”

She turned her head to look into my eyes. I returned her gaze, trying not to show my fear of her answer.

“I trust you. Completely.”

She drained her wooden cup. I wondered if I should return her trust and tell her that I shared Beth’s secret sexual proclivity, but I feared her reaction and so maintained a cowardly silence on my own feelings. Instead I approached obliquely.

“And did it trouble you, Beth’s confession?”

“Which one?”

“That she loves women,” I hesitated. “That Tansy has done so.”

“Some. When you’re a fighting woman, people – men and women both – assume it of you so I suppose I’m less quick to judge others for it. It will take some time, but I’ll get used to the idea.”

She looked at me again, suspecting that I asked about myself as well.

“Don’t fret,” she said. “I told you, I meant every word. You’re my sister. Nothing’s changed.”

I felt myself relax; I had not realized how tense I had become, awaiting her answer.

“And Beth?”

“Tansy’s my friend,” Lyra said, “and I’m thrilled that she’s my sister as well. I knew she’d lain with men and women for coin. She chose that. Beth didn’t choose, at least I don’t believe you can choose who you love. I can’t judge her more harshly than I do Tansy, and I don’t judge Tansy at all. Besides, she’s family. Just like Tansy, and just like you.”

“You have given this thought.”

“Of course I have. Why else do you think I was awake before the sun?”

“An excess of energy?”

“Hardly. I’ve also been wondering if we should stay here for a day,” Lyra changed the subject, signaling an end to the talk of sexuality. “This cottage has two large wash tubs and a large iron kettle. We could all bathe, and wash all of our clothes. They need it. We all stink. Except for you. Why is that?”

“I do not sweat.”

“Truly? How do you keep cool?”

“I radiate heat through my skin,” I said. “Have you not enjoyed it at night?”

“I have, I cannot lie. So should we stay, or do you think we should get away from Last Hearth?”

“I can detect nothing, nor can Tansy’s raven. He is very protective of Tansy and seeks out dangers to her. He is flying overhead even now, observing the road and nearby forest. He has seen no movement.”

“Let’s take a rest day, then. It will be good for the horses as well. And for Beth, I don’t doubt.”

“Thank you for defending me.”

“You do understand that you’re fairly hopeless when you’re not on a battlefield, do you not?”

“I am very good at killing people, but I have other skills as well.”

“I know you’re very capable,” Lyra said, “except when you’re not.”

We let the others sleep and went through a round of the morning exercises on our own, which helped settle my mind. They joined us as we finished, and we performed the exercises again. I felt my dark feelings lift, and Lyra described our plans for the day to our sisters.

We set to work, with Beth and Jory drawing water and moving more firewood from the huge covered stacks behind the cottage while Tansy and Lyra prepared First Meal. I built a large fire in a stone ring outside the cottage to heat the water kettle and moved the heavy wooden tubs into the grassy area next to the fire. Tansy came out to join me as I stoked the fire.

“Are you better today?”

“You are here,” I said. “And Lyra. And Jory. I feel very safe and comfortable with my sisters nearby.”

“And Beth?”

“She has made overtures. She does not wish to be angry. I think we can become friends.”

“And her lust for you?”

“I do not know what to think,” I admitted. “It is awkward.”

“As is yours for Lyra.”

“I did not overlook the irony.”

“This is part of being a human of this world,” Tansy said. “It’s not easy like it is in the stories.”

“I am lucky to have found you.”

“Yes, you are. We’re ready. I’ll start gathering clothing and the soap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris washes laundry.


	55. Chapter Thirty-Nine (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris makes herself useful.

Chapter Thirty-Nine (Dejah Thoris)

Lyra called us to First Meal just as I had the first tub of hot bath water ready, so Jory pulled off her tunic and leggings and settled into it to bathe. Tansy unwound Jory’s braid, leaving her hair loose for washing, and then joined the rest of us inside at the table.

I knew that it would be best to speak of something, anything, other than what had happened on the previous day, but knew not how to address it. Beth herself introduced the diversion.

“You were just as ready to run from Last Hearth as the rest of us,” she said, looking at me. “Can you read the thoughts of the dead?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “It is difficult to describe. I can detect their presence, the not-dead raised by the Others. But I receive no information from them. From the Others I received broad intent but not thoughts; I knew they wished to kill us but feared our blades. They are not courageous. The Night’s King and Queen had clear thoughts like living people, but with the feel of a dead person.”

“But you felt none of that at Last Hearth.”

“No. I could find no thoughts at all, not even those of higher animals like horses or wolves.”

“So why did you run?”

“I did not like that place,” I said. “I suspect that feeling the revulsion from all of you helped heighten that dislike.”

“That castle was simply wrong,” Jory said, entering the cottage completely naked except for a towel wrapped about her head. She stood by the fire to warm and dry herself.

“Time for washing,” Tansy said. “I need everyone’s washable clothes. Dejah will tend the fires and water, and help me with the washing. Beth, into the bath water with you.”

“Let me heat fresh water,” I told her. “I will call you when it is ready.”

The heavy iron kettle would have been troublesome for a normal woman, but with my enhanced strength I could move it easily. I still had to protect my hands from the hot metal with thick cloth pads I found stored inside it; someone had done all of this here many times.

Tansy explained how we would wash the filthy clothing in one of the tubs, using a large paddle to stir the hot soapy water. When the clothes – leggings, tunics, dresses and the “small clothes” worn next to the skin, but nothing of fur – were rinsed, we would hang them on racks near either the outdoor fire or the blaze I had built up in the cottage’s fireplace.

Tansy shucked off her leggings and tunic, dropping them into the water, as did I. The cold did not bother me, though I saw how it raised tiny bumps all over Tansy’s skin and hardened her nipples, a sight I noted with appreciation. Yet the cold seemed much less intense than it had in the days after I had killed the Night’s King. We added other clothing to the tub and I stirred it while Tansy added soap and pulled out pieces she thought to be extra dirty and scrubbed them.

“You have done this before,” I said.

“I ran a brothel,” she answered. “That meant doing a little bit of everything: cooking, cleaning, fucking, running figures. When the laundry maids were missing, or had too much work, I had to get my hands dirty. No one wants to frolic on sheets covered in someone else’s dried come-stains.”

“Come stains?”

“The fluid men eject during sex. Women add our own juices. It’s all pretty disgusting. Well, not when you’re doing it. Afterwards, when you have to clean it; it’s an unmistakable stain. I had to pay the laundry maids well to keep them coming back for more.”

“You enjoyed that part.”

“Not the come stains,” she said, but smiled. “But running the business? When it’s going well, there’s nothing short of orgasm to equal it. When it’s not, it’s pure hell. And it doesn’t take much to make things go bad.”

“There are not many businesses in Westeros.”

“No. Most folk are farmers. The traders do just that, they trade ten of one thing for twenty of another. Not nearly as complex as a brothel, with all the different moving parts.

“I hated Littlefinger, and I’m glad you killed him. Or caused him to be killed. But I must admit, that man knew business. Not many others do.”

I had not fully appreciated that my sister was a far more capable woman than I. I had great knowledge of Barsoom’s science, most of which was useless now. I knew how to use a sword, I had few reservations about killing people, and I could hunt. I had some knowledge of politics and military tactics, and I knew how to give sexual pleasure, at least to my own sub-species of human. But Tansy had a wealth of skills, all of them actually useful in this world. And I vividly recalled that she truly knew how to kiss.

I had been a privileged princess, living in unearned luxury. On my planet we wear very little clothing, but that which I did wear would be cleaned out of my sight by servants. It rarely had the chance to become soiled, unless I engaged in some activity that resulted in my falling onto the ground. Even when nearly spotless, it would disappear and mysteriously return in perfect condition.

“I think I’m done now,” Beth said from the other tub. I had almost forgotten her presence.

“The water has gone cold?” I asked.

“Yes, but I’m clean.”

“You may join Jory inside by the fire, or I can add more hot water if you would like.”

“More, please.”

I used a bucket to lower the level of water in the bath tub, and then topped it off with hot water from the kettle. She moaned softly.

“You are enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” she said. I had not seen her fully relaxed before.

“That is good.”

I poured the rest of the hot water into the washing tub, drew new cold water from the well and added it to the kettle, and finally stoked the fire with more fresh wood. There seemed to be an endless supply of dry wood that burned readily, and I asked Tansy about it.

“Winter stores,” she said. “They probably didn’t plan to spend the winter here, but people cut it and stack it, then move it to whatever holdfast they enter for winter.”

Each of us had but one towel, taken from the stores at Castle Black. Like Jory, Beth wrapped hers around her head and dashed into the cottage otherwise naked; I had observed this odd custom at Chataya’s brothel as well, and once again asked Tansy about it.

“I never really thought about it,” she said. “I suspect it’s mostly habit. Some styling’s easier if your hair’s a little damp, so the towel keeps it from drying out too fast. Mostly it keeps water off your clothes while your hair dries; not all of us have a fire burning under our skin like you do. If you hadn’t asked I would have done it too after my turn in the bath, even though I won’t put on clothes until they’re dry.”

I needed to heat a great deal more water to renew both the bath tub and the washing tub, so after we had rinsed the clothing in cold water and hung it on the drying racks I sent Tansy inside to warm herself while I worked in the cold. I enjoyed feeling my body’s strength, and I appreciated that for once I was using that strength for a productive purpose rather than for killing people.

Lyra came out to ask if I wanted to stop for Mid-Day Meal; I had fallen into a comfortable working rhythm and asked if she could bring me something instead. She smiled and assented, amused at a princess having turned into a devoted washerwoman.

When I had heated sufficient hot water, I filled both tubs and called Tansy and Lyra outside. Their hair had been undone and fell loosely to their waists, a look I found exceptionally beautiful. Tansy slipped into the bath while Lyra and I washed more clothing. As I worked alongside my naked adoptive sister, I began to appreciate Beth’s discomfort around me. I had not had these feelings while Tansy stood next to me unclothed, at least not as strongly.

Lyra resisted the cold better than Tansy had, taking pride in her Northern heritage. I continued my tasks as before, tending the fires, drawing water from the well, pouring hot water where directed, and stirring the wash tub. Once again, we rinsed the clothes in cold water and hung them on racks to dry near the fires, and then Tansy ran into the cottage, a towel around her head. I cleaned out the wash tub and then filled both with hot water, so that Lyra and I could bathe together after she unwrapped my braid.

I enjoyed the sensation of the water on my skin.

“I never did this at home,” I said.

“Truly? How do you keep clean?”

“We have devices to blast us with warm air,” I said. “Water is very precious on my world, and using it for bathing would be thought very wasteful.”

“Do you prefer the air-blast?”

“It is very much faster,” I said. “But I love the feel of hot water on my skin. It is a luxury, perhaps made more so because it is considered decadent and forbidden to waste water in such a manner.”

“I bathe like this every day on Bear Island.”

“Truly? Does the Mormont Way not mean you must heat the water yourself?”

“We have a bathhouse right on the mountainside above Mormont Keep, fed by hot springs.”

She concentrated on the sensations of warm, mineral-heavy waters pulsing against her skin, hoping to share them with me.

“I can feel that,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’ll feel it for real when we return to Bear Island.”

“I am starting to look forward to that.”

“Good. I’m going to like sharing my home with you.”

After we had washed ourselves, she reached for my hand and took two of my fingers in hers. I settled as deep into the tub as I could and closed my eyes. I had worked hard at physical labor for most of the day, something I had not done on Barsoom after completing my enforced Navy service and only a few times since my arrival here. I could not claim to have enjoyed the work, but I felt a deep satisfaction at having done something for my sisters’ comfort.

Eventually we would have to speak to the unspoken attractions; mine for Lyra and Beth’s for me. Or would we? It had probably been long enough since Tansy and I had our sexual encounter with Cersei for us to become regular lovers; she had certainly enjoyed receiving orgasm in Castle Black. And Beth would gladly do so, if I could decipher how to broach the topic without humiliating her further. But Tansy was my sister, and Beth my apprentice. Those relationships would complicate such a change in status, even on Barsoom where sex is viewed far more casually than among these people.

I had surrounded myself, or allowed myself to be surrounded, with a set of sisters who had not been born of the same mother as I. I had not even been born at all, but hatched. We of Barsoom choose our brothers and sisters, as those born of the same parents may differ in age by hundreds of years and we are seldom raised together, a childhood of Barsoom lasting only a handful of years. Finding sisterhood with Tansy, and then Lyra and Jory, was unusual for this place, but not at all for my home. Thuvia has been my sister for many years, though we have different parents and home nations; I still grieve the loss of my beloved sister Kajas.

While I had enjoyed sex with Thuvia an uncountable number of times, and Kajas before her, we do not have the same attitude toward physical love as the people here. I had already stretched the social fabric by forming this sisterhood at all; I dared not pull it beyond the breaking point by introducing a sexual element. The biological link between sex and reproduction makes the attitude of the people here very different than that of my home planet. We can enjoy ourselves without repercussion; they cannot. I could easily take pleasure in acts of sex and then forget them, acts that would deeply traumatize my sisters.

I would not jeopardize the love and warmth I had found. I would keep my desires to myself, and find some way to deflect Beth’s attraction to me without causing further distress. This would not be easy; given the choice, I would rather fight the Night’s King again.

I felt Lyra let go of my fingers, and noticed that the water had cooled. She peered over the edge of the tub at me. Golden flecks danced in her brown eyes. My resolve weakened.

“It’s getting cold,” she said. “Let’s get inside.”

I peeked into her mind; she detected none of my conflicted thoughts. Actually, she considered that I showed no expression at all, my usual state. I knew this to be a common interpretation; with so much information delivered by telepathy among my people, we rely far less on such non-verbal cues though we do have them and Tansy had become quite adept at reading mine.

We rinsed ourselves with buckets of cold water; Lyra shouted when it struck her skin. I found it stimulating. After rubbing our towels over our skin we wrapped them around our heads and went inside the cottage.

“So how does it feel to go from princess to working woman?” Tansy asked as I took a seat next to her in front of the fire.

“I did not work a full day,” I said. “And it was only one day.”

“Feeling privileged?”

“Yes. A princess must serve as a soldier, it is a long-standing rule of my people, and so I was a low-ranking Navy officer. I did physical labor then. Ever since those days, food and clean clothes and any other desires have appeared as if by magic.”

“We’ve all been privileged,” Beth said. “Not as much as a princess, but far more than a farm girl. Many of the smallfolk don’t even have a second set of clothes to wash.”

“I did not mind the work,” I said. “It made me feel useful. I will work when we go to Bear Island. As long as it does not involve working on a boat or a ship.”

“There will be plenty of hard work,” Lyra said. “I haven’t been back to the island since we mustered for the war, but Alysane said it’s been hard on the land, the buildings and the people.”

“Will the people accept us?” Tansy asked. “Will your family?”

“You’re Mother’s favorite,” Lyra smiled. “Dejah is a hero. Little Beth Cassel is already a Mormont through her mother.”

“Little Beth?” I asked. “You are taller than most women.”

“My mother was named Beth, also. So I was Little Beth as a child.”

“I meant,” Tansy continued, “will they hold my old line of work against me?”

“Some will,” Lyra answered. “You already knew that. The islanders respect those who earn it. I wouldn’t worry on that score.”

“We’re starting fresh,” Beth said. “You, me, even Dejah. Princess or whore or slave girl, we have a chance to make a new place for ourselves. Bringing wagons filled with gold shouldn’t hurt.”

“So you’ve accepted your Mormont family,” Lyra said.

“That sort of just slipped out,” Beth answered. “So I suppose that I have.”

“I’m glad,” Lyra said. “I’m also tired.”

We took off our towels and climbed under the thick cover known as a “comforter.” I slept deeply and well, feeling that I had earned my rest for the first night in hundreds of years. 

* * *

“Do my nightmares keep you awake?” Beth asked as I sat up and stretched. I had slept through the night for the first time in several months, having allowed the raven to keep watch.

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “They did not last night. Did you have them?”

“Not that I remember. When they’re really bad, I come fully awake, sometimes crying or shaking. I don’t think that happened.”

“I have seen that happen to you. I do not think it did last night, either. We evolved telepathy to warn us of predators attacking in the night. Strong fear impulses usually awaken me.”

We climbed out of the bed, the only ones awake. Once again, we left the others sleeping and made tea from the crushed dried flowers.

“Can you follow dreams? With your ability?”

“I try to block them out,” I said. “At the best of times, for someone like me to be around others who do not know how to screen their thoughts is like having all of them shouting at you at once. When they do so while dreaming, it is as though they are all screaming insane nonsense.”

“They make no sense?”

“Perhaps slightly. I do not know if your people and mine dream in the same manner, but I suspect it is similar. I know it feels like a great many things happen in a dream over a very long time. Days or even years. In reality, dreams finish in a very short time. For a mind-reader, those thoughts are greatly compressed and difficult to understand. And even then, there is no context – no background of the story unfolding.”

“So you don’t see my dreams? My nightmares?”

“I know that they frighten and disturb you, but other than a few isolated, sometimes powerful images, no.”

We now occupied the same perch Lyra and I had sat upon on the prior morning. Beth relaxed, breathing out noisily.

“You’re telling me the truth?”

“I would have no reason to lie.”

While I told the truth, I did not describe the images I had inadvertently seen and fortunately she did not ask. They disturbed me as well.

“Sometimes I dream of what happened to me. The rapes, or being taken. More often it’s feelings of helplessness that I can’t understand. People – sometimes people I know, sometimes strangers – taking me, forcing me to do things, sometimes killing me. Or sometimes it’s me doing it to them. That part’s actually worse.”

“They are symbolic.”

“I suppose so. I can’t really tell you what they are. Just that they leave me feeling horrible, worthless, wishing to die. I guess I was hoping you could tell me more.”

“You were afraid that I had seen myself in your dreams.”

“Well, yes.”

“As I said, I have only seen isolated images when they were powerful enough to wake me. I promise you that I have not remembered them,” I lied, then told the truth. “I wish to help you, and to earn your trust. Telepathy is not truly mind-reading. It is a means of communicating. Were you also a telepath, you could send me complicated information, your actual feelings as well as your memories of what happened. Since you are not, I only see a very limited amount.”

“I think I understand,” she said. “Is it like reading a book, but only seeing every fifth word?”

“Something like that. If I ask you a direct question, I would see what your mind forms as an answer. But why it forms that answer, what history is behind it, that is very limited.”

“So you don’t really see all of my innermost thoughts.”

“No. I saw . . . what distressed you, only because it came to the front of your mind at a time when I was alert to your thoughts. I do not usually pay attention to others’ thoughts. I have too many of my own.”

“The daydreaming.”

“You are not the first to say this,” I said. “It is that obvious?”

“Sometimes you seem to be very far away.”

“I suppose that sometimes I am. I retain my focus for battle. Would you care to practice before the others awake?”

We performed the morning exercises together, and then I worked Beth through basic exercises and agility drills.

“These are the building blocks of swordplay,” I said. “These simple moves are put together into more complex evolutions.”

“I understand,” she said. “My father did something like this with his students. It always looked silly to me.”

“It does look silly,” I allowed. “Even so, they need to become instinctive. You are old for this, but very adept.”

“I think you’re supposed to tell me I’m terrible at this.”

“Perhaps this is why I was not a very good teacher.”

We performed the exercises again when the others awoke, ate our First Meal and rode out in the mid-morning sunshine. The weather continued to improve, while the road did not as we encountered ever-deeper mud.

“The ground is melting,” I observed. “The weather has changed.”

“I’ve heard of a ‘False Spring,’” Lyra said. “When it seems that Winter has ended, but it comes back with even greater force.”

“You don’t think it has to do with the Wall melting?” Tansy asked.

“That is the more logical explanation,” I said. “The seasons are returning to their proper length.”

“So,” Tansy said, “you finally admit that we’ve told the truth about Winter.”

“All of you appear to believe this fantastic tale to be true.”

“Something’s definitely changed,” Jory said. “The trees seem to be reviving. They only do that for True Spring, do they not?”

I watched my mare lift her feet out of the mud as she walked. She did not like the mud.

“We may need more mules,” I said.

“Why?” Tansy asked.

“After we steal Beth’s gold, we will not be able to move a wagon through this.”

My sisters contemplated the problem, but said nothing.

“We are still taking the gold,” I said. “We will find a way to move it.”

* * *

I began to encounter the thought patterns of more higher-order animals as we moved to the south-east, including a great many wolves apparently feasting on the dead humans scattered through the forests. We slept in farm or forest cottages each night, and each morning we performed the exercises and then I taught more swordplay to Lyra, Beth and sometimes Jory. Beth began using an actual sword, getting used to its weight and learning to respect it as a death-dealing weapon.

I kept a particular watch for mules; their unpleasant minds should have been easy to detect. But I only found one, and it took a great deal of coaxing and a large number of apples to convince it to join our procession. The presence of so many wolves had scared away many other animals, escaped livestock in particular.

“You said that the Manderlys and the Boltons paid their taxes with coin,” I asked Tansy as we drew close to the Dreadfort.

“That’s right,” she said. “The only Northern houses to do so consistently.”

“The Manderlys control trade by water?”

“They rule the only real port in the North, a city called White Harbor.”

The limited means of transport available to this society also limited trade. Ships floating on water could carry bulk cargoes. If the warship _Sweet Cersei_ that I had burned in Duskendale was indeed one of the very largest ships in this world, the cargoes of smaller ships could not have been very large. Yet wagons could carry even less, as the draft animals would have to be fed and the need to move fodder would reduce the amount of cargo the wagon could carry. Control of ports and rivers meant control of trade.

“They gained their coin,” I mused aloud, “by taxing trade.”

“Right.”

“So where did the Boltons get their gold?”

“Slaving,” Beth said from behind us. “When they sold me, it was part of a regular arrangement.”

“How many slaves?” I asked.

“I have no idea, but probably a great many. They had holding cells under the Dreadfort filled with wildlings. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. The ships came, they made their selections, marched the new slaves down to the river and off they went.”

“Wildlings?” I sought clarity.

“Tormund’s people,” Lyra said, mentioning her father.

“I remember,” I said. “I did not understand how the Boltons came to capture them.”

“I heard them talking,” Beth said. “A few were peasants who fell behind on taxes or who poached deer. And they captured wildling raiders they found south of the Wall or they made their own raids on Skagos.”

“Skagos?”

“An island east of the Wall,” Jory said. “Known for savage people and strange animals.”

“Right,” Beth said. “But that’s not where they got most of them. Most came courtesy of the honorable brothers of the Night’s Watch.”

“The Night’s Watch sold captives to the Boltons?” This surprised me.

“That’s what they said.”

“I believe it,” Lyra said. “Think about it. The Watch constantly went ranging north of the Wall. They fought the wildlings there, on the Wall and on this side. They needed money for arms, for supplies. And we know they had gold – Dejah looted it. Where else would they have gotten it?”

“Donations?” Jory asked.

“Hard coin moved all the way from King’s Landing?” Lyra countered. “Surely we would have heard of robbery along the way.”

“Uncle tried to spare us?”

“I think,” Lyra said, “Uncle spared us a lot of uncomfortable knowledge.”

“Who bought the slaves?” I asked. “It is forbidden in Westeros, is it not?”

“Not only holding them,” Lyra answered, “but selling them as well. The Boltons should have faced death for it; Ned Stark sentenced our cousin Jorah to die for selling two men he called poachers to slavers. Yet somehow Jorah escaped with his spoiled Southron wife.”

“Instead of going to the Wall with his father,” Jory added. “Why was he sentenced to death, instead of the Night’s Watch?”

“What do you,” I asked Lyra, “believe really happened?”

“Truly?” Lyra asked. She paused, then continued. “I believe the Starks well knew of the Bolton slave trade, they accepted the Bolton taxes and looked away. I believe Jorah’s true crime was that he bypassed the Boltons and kept all of the profit to spend on his soft-handed wife, and Ned Stark allowed him exile instead of the Wall. The Starks were not going to risk civil war with the Boltons over my cousin Jorah’s stupidity.”

“You knew of the Bolton slave trade?”

“I suspected. We trade with wildlings, also breaking the North’s laws. So we’ve all spoken with them, at least Dacey, Alysane and me. They always accused the Watch of slaving, among other crimes. It’s an odd thing to claim without something behind it.”

“Ned Stark was said to be very honorable.”

“Yes,” she said, “by Ned Stark. You can be honorable, or you can be a good ruler.”

I thought on Lyra’s pronouncement; I could not say Helium was very different. My father and grandfather usually acted with honor, but always acted in the interests of their city and people. When forced to choose, they chose their people.

“Maege is honorable,” I said, “and a good ruler.”

“Mother is a good ruler,” Lyra readily agreed. “She also let you fight Lyn Corbray. She pressed you to do it. I was there, remember?”

It had not been a fair fight, or what my husband would have considered honorable. It was also, without question, the correct choice.

“Slavery is not good for the people.” I did not share that Helium also practiced slavery, as had John Carter’s beloved Virginia. I felt shame that I had done so little to end the institution.

“No,” Lyra said. “But neither is war. The Boltons would not have given up such riches without a fight.”

“In my city, we call profits such as these ‘blood money’.”

“We have that phrase as well,” Lyra said. “It certainly applies.”

We rode a short while, and she continued.

“Lord Stark loved his people,” she said. “And they returned it. As highly as he thought of his own honor, I can’t see him sending them to war if he thought he could avoid it.”

“I know he loved me,” Beth said. “Almost as one of his own. He failed to protect me.”

“He couldn’t protect his own daughters, either,” Tansy said. “Sansa was raped as well, and sold to the Boltons. Arya fled to Braavos and came back to be murdered by a Frey.”

Beth sighed.

“I know,” she said. “I just . . . he was so powerful. He could do anything, protect us all from anything. And he died like a common criminal.”

“You loved Lord Stark?” I asked. “Do you still?”

“I did. I looked up to him as a father figure. As for his role in the slaving . . . I don’t know what I think. It was an old trade. You could tell by the age of the cells, and the way the Boltons and the Tyroshi talked about it. Lord Stark inherited a dirty secret he didn’t make. But it was still his to fix. I suppose it’s easier to forget about when it happens to someone else’s daughter.”

She looked at me.

“No one answered your question,” she said. “East of here is an ocean we call the Narrow Sea. The large cities on the other side – much larger than any in Westeros – hold slaves. Field slaves who grow crops, domestic slaves who work in homes, bed slaves for fucking. I was meant to be one of those.”

“I am glad you escaped.”

“Me, too.”

She was silent for a moment.

“The slavers know about the gold. A ship will show up eventually to buy slaves. When they realize the Dreadfort is empty, they’ll look for the gold. That’s why I wanted to get there first.”

“That,” I agreed, “was good thinking.”

“I wouldn’t mind if we caught and killed them. All of them.”

“Neither would I.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris sets a castle on fire.


	56. Chapter Sixteen (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a false identity is revealed.

Chapter Sixteen (John Carter)

While Qarth’s slave economy used slave labor to produce goods and services, in Meereen and the other cities the slaves themselves were the produce. Difficult as it was to rebuild Qarth as a society without slaves, it was still a matter of giving the former slaves wages for the labor they had once been forced to do, even if individuals pursued a new line of work.

In Meereen, most of the slave occupations were useless. The city specialized in pit fighters (both male and female) and slave-soldiers (mostly, though not exclusively, male), but also trained servants, sex slaves, scribes and teachers. These people would have to be put to productive work.

Fulfilling my promise to Daenerys, I had the Great Masters brought before me for questioning, and after some weeks I eventually identified 163 men with responsibility for the child crucifixions that had so vexed my princess. Belwas asked to add three more who had mistreated him during his days as a slave; he rarely asked me for favors and so I added their names to the list of those condemned to impalement. Daenerys wished them to ride poles in the central plaza below the Great Pyramid or perhaps along the city walls; I had them executed outside the city.

The Meereenese upper classes came to hate me very quickly. They might have forgiven the pending end of slavery, since the owners would receive compensation, but I had also banned the eating of dogs at the request of Orange Cat. Like Belwas he seldom asked anything of me, and it seemed a small enough boon that I was happy to grant it.

Dog turned out to be the centerpiece of the upper-class diet. They had seemingly hundreds of ways of preparing it, and my order proved the proverbial last straw. The end of slavery and pit fighting had angered them, but the order taking dog off the menu caused their rage to boil over.

A rebel movement calling themselves Sons of the Harpy began to leave graffiti on walls, declaring me a usurper, a tyrant and a pervert, and to murder the new officers of the Civic Guard. Questioning surviving Guards with telepathy, I found few of them involved - they believed the attackers to have been Meereenese nobles or hired killers in their pay.

I had surviving Great Masters brought before me for questioning, and soon found the movement’s leader, a younger Master named Hizdar zo Loraq. It’s hard to keep secrets from a telepath. Ko Ogo had assembled an expert team that could impale a condemned man or woman and leave them “riding the pole,” as the Dothraki called it, for many days. His father had been one of those impaled for the slaughter of children and now Hizdar rode the pole in the central plaza, soon to be joined by the women who led the House of Pahl that had formerly been dominant in Meereen. By the time I considered the Sons to have been extirpated, just over 200 poles had been erected in the plaza.

The investigation did reveal a competent administrator named Skahaz mo Kandaq, a supremely ugly man but one eager to prove himself to me. Skahaz had shaved his head, removing the hideous lacquered hair worn by his compatriots to show his devotion to me. He advocated taking hostages from the children of the Great Masters and impaling one for each murder committed by the Sons of the Harpy. Satisfied that we had crushed the rebellion I demurred, but I put him to work building a bureaucracy from the hordes of well-educated slaves formerly employed as tutors and clerks.

I also tasked Skahaz with acquiring and freeing slaves as quickly as work could be found for them, paying compensation on a fixed scale to their owners. We had appropriated the possessions of those Great Masters now dying in the central plaza, which as in Qarth provided plenty of money. I knew that Skahaz skimmed from these funds for himself, but said nothing as long as it did not become excessive.

At my request, Skahaz put together a team of former slaves who had taught literature, geometry and mathematics. I added an experienced sea captain, and put them to work devising a semaphore code based on their Bastard Valyrian language. I wished to build a chain of signal towers between the three cities of Slaver’s Bay with another line leading to Qarth; I had seen such in France and knew that a message could fly between the towers in an hour where a dispatch rider might take days. With fast and secure communications, the four cities I now ruled could be effectively governed from one capital. I planned to garrison the towers to help secure the countryside, and we could employ literate former slaves as signalmen. Later I planned to extend the line to the Hyrkoon cities.

The sudden surplus of scribes and teachers allowed me to fill out Lodovico’s army staff and my new “royal” government with clerks and secretaries. I directed Skahaz to prepare a study on the costs of establishing a universal education system in all four cities and their hinterlands, initially paid for out of seized funds and housed in seized buildings, but eventually supported by taxes.

The former slaves would easily fall back into wretchedness, for this was their nature. While the current generation would have to fend for themselves, I aimed to overturn their society. The next generation would know to expect more from their lives, would have the skills and knowledge to demand it, and would know to thank John Carter for their deliverance. Schools taught more than reading and mathematics; they also shaped a society’s attitudes. And I needed to be the one determining that shape.

* * *

Melennis had set ships to patrolling Slaver’s Bay and into the Summer Sea to its south. One of them had brought back a trio of vessels that had been headed to Qarth bearing people seeking me, as well as two Qartheen war galleys whose officers had decided to join us when they learned of my conquest of Qarth. Melennis brought the squadron’s captain to my gardens to meet me before he presented the passengers.

“Andrea Groleo, Captain of Pentos,” the red-haired sailor introduced himself. He was a large man, who matched his very large ship, a sailing vessel named _Saduleon_. “Illyrio Mopatis thought you might have need of my ship and my services.”

“I’ve known Groleo many years,” Melennis added. “He’s an experienced sailor and fighter, and a good and loyal friend.”

His thoughts confirmed his words; he thought highly of Groleo.

“Very well,” I said. “Welcome to my service, Vice Admiral Groleo. You’ll serve as second to Melennis.”

We exchanged the unusual wrist-clasping handshake of this world.

“Thank you, my lord,” he said. ““I brought a friend of yours, a man named Varys. Illyrio says he has important information. He brought a dwarf who claims to be an important personage, but spent the voyage drunk in his cabin. And there’s a whole entourage of Dornish including a princess, plus a fire witch.”

“Then let’s meet them,” I said. “I should tell you, I’m a man of rather plain tastes when not living in a pyramid.”

“Illyrio called you a man of purpose,” he said as we started down the stairs.

“That I am. You’ll excuse me while I mount my throne. I assure you it wasn’t my idea. It came with the pyramid.”

The two admirals joined my senior staff, who had already arrived. When I had taken my seat, with Daenerys beside me and Calye and Syrio directly behind it, the two Hyrkoon Companions guarding the door opened it to admit Varys. He dressed this time in colorful silks, but left his bald head uncovered.

“Lord Varys,” I said. “Welcome. What brings you to Meereen?”

“News of Westeros I thought I’d best impart in person, my lord. We haven’t spoken in some time, and perhaps we might coordinate our next steps.”

“Our next steps,” I said, “depend on how quickly we can settle affairs here around Slavers’ Bay.”

“My chieftain,” Daenerys said. “I should like to re-name it Dragons’ Bay.”

“As you wish, my princess,” I said. “Lord Varys, you’ve brought a guest with you.”

“Illyrio sent me with another interesting person,” Varys said, moving aside to reveal a well-dressed dwarf standing behind him. This is . . .”

“Tyrion Lannister,” Calye supplied before Varys could finish. I twisted round to give her a questioning look. “My first customer, and my . . . my first husband. Only husband.”

Tyrion Lannister had never been a handsome man, but he had lost his nose at some point. I had encountered noseless men before, though I could not recall where, but I did recall that they had worn some sort of artificial nose or at least a covering to hide their deformity. Tyrion Lannister simply left the gaping wound visible for all to see, a revolting sight even to me, a veteran of a thousand bloody battlefields.

The dwarf ignored me, his gaze fixed instead on my bedwarmer.

“Tysha?” Lannister spoke slowly, his thoughts deeply confused. “You’re . . . here?”

“It’s Calye,” she said. “It’s always . . . always been Calye. I belong to, to John Carter now. I’m his, body and soul.”

“Lord Varys,” I interrupted. “Perhaps you can explain why you’ve brought this gentleman to Meereen, while he recovers his wits.”

“Of course, my lord. Lord Tyrion is the second son of the late Tywin Lannister, former lord of the Westerlands, hand of the king and true power behind the throne.”

“Tywin Lannister is dead.”

“Yes,” Varys confirmed. “Lord Tyrion killed him. Shot him with a crossbow while he sat the privy.”

“Fortunately,” I said, “I keep a guard outside mine. You say Illyrio sent him.”

“At my request,” Varys said. “I believe that his knowledge of Westerosi politics could be of use. And he’s my friend. I don’t have many friends.”

“He’s also a Lannister,” my princess spoke up. “Should we not execute him? His father betrayed my father.”

“So he did, your grace,” Varys gave a deep nod. “Lord Tyrion is not his father. He killed your father’s betrayer.”

“Murdering one’s own kin is a great crime,” I asked, “is it not?”

“It is known,” Ornela answered.

“Selmy?” I prompted the knight, recently returned from Astapor and Yunkai.

“I never liked the Imp,” he said. “He spent his time in King’s Landing drunk, or visiting . . . women of ill repute. If he has some special knowledge of politics, he gained it after my exile.”

“Lord Tyrion,” I addressed the dwarf, having made a decision. “My princess requires a tutor in Westerosi politics and history. You will join her household, and provide such lessons. Please me, and you shall live.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Tyrion answered. “Could I beg your indulgence, and the opportunity to speak to Tysha, that is, Lady Calye?”

“That’s up to her,” I said. “As she says, she is my property, and under my protection. Harm her, physically or otherwise, and your stay in Meereen will be as short as your stature.

“And Lord Tyrion, the next time I see you, you will have your facial wound covered, or you will lose more than your nose. Consider that a direct order.”

Calye led the dwarf away, allowing me to concentrate on my far more useful visitor.

“Have a seat, Lord Varys. Bring me up to date.”

“And what of our Dornish guests?” Varys asked. “And the priestess?”

“Jhiqui will find them quarters suitable to their station,” I said, and looked to the Dothraki handmaid. “Put them in the best apartments you can find. See that they have whatever they need.”

We then gathered around a conference table - my senior kos and generals, the admirals, my princess, Selmy, Rastifa, Lizhi and Ornela. Varys described how Illyrio and Horo Stassen had formed strong factions in Pentos and Myr, respectively, ready for my assumption of power there.

Across the sea, the King of Westeros had been murdered by his wife by way of a cousin she had seduced. Raw alcohol had been added to his wine, and he had been too drunk to stop a boar from goring him to death. Apparently the Westerosi had no knowledge of distilling, and the alcohol had come from somewhere in Essos. His supposed son, actually the product of his queen’s illicit affair with her own brother, had taken the throne.

Selmy had then been exiled by the boy king. I looked to him for explanation.

“I was on that hunt,” he said. “I knew the king to be acting far too drunk for the amount of wine consumed, but had no clue that it had been enhanced by Lancel. His squire. Or that the queen was involved. Though it surprises me not.”

“And the new king’s parentage?”

“There were rumors,” he said. “We were the Kingsguard, we always knew who . . . lay with whom. Never anything substantial, and I must admit I considered it too outlandish to be true.”

“I assure you, Ser Barristan,” Varys purred, “it is quite true.”

“I never trusted this one,” Selmy said to me. “Take his words with caution.”

“One cannot lie to the Khal of khals,” Ornela said. “It is known.”

“It is known,” Doreah repeated from her place, seated behind my right shoulder taking notes. Irri had remained in her quarters, feeling ill. I had noticed that she now seemed to avoid my princess whenever possible.

Varys actually had enough control of his thoughts that he could lie to the Khal of khals, and he appeared to know both that I could read thoughts and that he could screen his, at least partially.

“As you say, Ser Barristan,” I said aloud. “Lord Varys and I have discussed the necessity of his continuing to prove his loyalty.”

Varys silently bowed his head. “Might I continue?” I gestured with my hand, and he went on.

The mentally unstable boy-king, named Joffrey, had executed the Lord of the North after promising amnesty. That led to what appeared to be full-blown, multi-front civil war, with Lannister forces defeating an attack on the capital by the Baratheon family but Northern armies winning a series of battlefield victories against the Lannisters. Tywin Lannister, Tyrion’s father, brought that to an end by murdering the new young Lord of the North and many of his followers at a wedding. Then young Joffrey succumbed to poison at his own wedding, and Tyrion fled to Essos ahead of his own execution.

“I assisted his escape,” Varys concluded his tale. “He seemed to be a person of value.”

My initial impressions told me otherwise, but instead I asked Varys about the current government.

“Joffrey’s younger brother sits the throne, with his mother the true power,” the eunuch said. “The North is under control of a rival family, the Boltons, who assisted in the overthrow of the Starks. The Riverlands are held by the Freys, who conducted the Red Wedding. The Lannister position is shaky, but they appear to have crushed all of their enemies.”

“The Kingslayer lives?” my princess asked.

“He does, your grace,” Varys said. “He commands the Lannister armies.”

“And the Starks?”

“Sansa Stark disappeared after Joffrey’s murder,” Varys said. “I have not managed to locate her. Arya Stark likewise is missing, as are the two younger boys.”

“My chieftain,” Daenerys said to me, “exterminating the traitors is just as important as taking the throne. My reign can never be secure while they live.”

“My princess,” I said, “when I take the throne, the power of all the great families will be broken. Any Starks or Lannisters who accept the new order will be treated like any other citizen; those who do not will die like any other rebel.”

I did not allow her to argue.

“Lord Varys,” I said instead, “my thanks for your reports. Try to determine whether the Stark heirs are in the hands of those who would use them as pawns.”

“Pawns, my lord?”

“Game pieces of low value, used by another to expand their own power.”

“As you say,” Varys bowed his head again, “as in all things.”

* * *

I have come to realize that my appetites are not like those of other men. I suspect this is related to my physical strength, which is substantially greater than that of any man I have ever met. I can read the thoughts of others, and I believe myself to be extremely long-lived though my memory seems to have been damaged.

Until recently, I found my desires shameful. I tried not to think about them and definitely did not wish others to know. I feel the need for release several times a day. After perhaps 24 hours the need becomes uncomfortable, and I must make love to a woman. For some time after my arrival in the desert the need increased, but by the time I reached Qarth it seemed to have reached a steady level.

The Dothraki make love wherever they will, on horseback or amid a crowd; they simply have no care for propriety. They knew that I took a woman several times a day, and though they soon learned to say nothing of it in front of me I knew from their thoughts that my reputation for virility only added to my power.

Even so, I felt shame to be a slave to my base natures. I had therefore made a habit of expending my seed as quickly as possible. I used my bed-slaves Calye and Doreah for simple release, but took to heart the lessons in pleasing my princess that Doreah passed on. I used the same gentle methods with Rastifa the Beautiful, and with the Hyrkoon women I had agreed to impregnate.

And then Lynesse Mormont slipped into my bath, my bed, my life. I didn’t love her and, truth be told, I didn’t particularly like her. When not acting seductively, her voice had a shrill edge to it that seemingly made my teeth ache. I spoke with her as little as possible within the bounds of good manners. Yet her skills in the bed chamber awakened desires I had long repressed. Previously I had sated my needs in minutes; it was not unusual now for me to lie entangled with Lynesse’s perfect, nude body for an hour or more. Even afterwards, with her long, smooth form pressed against mine - she shaved not only her legs but her private area as well - I found myself enjoying the weight of her bosom on my bare chest as I idly played with her golden tresses.

She desired lovely things, and I obliged. Meereen had many slaves devoted to producing luxury goods - jewelry, clothing and the like - and I employed them in the Great Pyramid to fit the court ladies with new gowns though always in the Qartheen style. Lynesse wanted music, and so I hired former slaves who had played for the Great Masters. Daenerys believed that I did these things for her, and I did not disabuse her of this notion, though Doreah of course instantly understood my motives.

“What is it that you want of me?” I asked Lynesse, continuing to wind her ringlets around my finger.

“Handmaids,” she said, still purring in the voice she used while making love. “That Doreah refuses to style my hair or draw a bath. She slapped me the last time I tried to order her. She doesn’t know her station.”

“Did you slap her back?”

“I tried,” she said, the screech starting to creep into her honeyed tones. “She’s taller and stronger. She knocked me down and laughed at me. She could have killed me.”

Lynesse stood perhaps five and a half feet tall; Doreah was about four inches taller, and had had months of hard riding to strengthen her as well as training from Belwas in knife fighting and hand-to-hand combat. Had she wanted to kill Lynesse, she easily could have done so.

“Doreah occupies the same station as you,” I said. “You’re mine now, as is she. I’ll consider your request.”

“I’m . . .” she thought to argue that she was no slave, but decided to seek more favors instead. “I’m going to Westeros with you, am I not?”

“I don’t see why not,” I said. “If you continue to please me.”

Eventually Lynesse hoped to turn her favored position in my bed into one at court, obtaining favors and riches for those she favored in turn. When we had conquered Westeros, she had a long list of enemies she wished to see punished; the impalements of the Great Masters had inspired her desire for vengeance. The Mormont family had humiliated her, and she wished to see the current Lady of the house and her daughters riding poles. If Lynesse still amused me when their island fell to our armies, perhaps I would grant her wishes. I knew that Jorah Mormont wished to resume his lordship there, which meant that Maege Mormont and her daughters would have to be eliminated in any case.

At some point, Ser Jorah would return to my side. Yet I was in no mood to put aside his wife. He could remain in Qarth a while longer.

* * *

“Tell me about this Tyrion Lannister,” I told Calye, after a brief afternoon love-making session in a secluded corner of the rooftop garden. She had not cried after taking my seed since I had ordered Daenerys to cease tormenting her.

“I was . . . I was new to the pillow house,” she said. “I hadn’t been broken . . . broken in yet. A buyer wanted a . . . a virgin to ship to Westeros, where, where no one would know her. They . . . they sold me.”

“This was in Pentos?”

“Lys. I was born in . . . in Lys. In a pillow house. My . . . my father was a Qartheen sailor.”

That explained her strangely pale skin.

“I looked . . . looked even younger.” Calye actually appeared older than her years, but I did not disturb her delusion. She touched her oddly-shaped bosom. “The girls hadn’t, they hadn’t come in fully.

“I had to . . . had to pretend I was a, a crofter’s daughter. Tyrion saved me from, from bandits paid by his, his brother. All of that was for . . . was for show. The brother he, he hired the bandits. And then . . . then Tyrion stuck his tiny dwarven cock into, he broke my . . . my maidenhead, and he, he said he loved me and, and later he married me.”

“So you have a husband?”

“No. His . . . his father dissolved it. Then he, he had his soldiers all rape me. One at a time. A silver coin for . . . for each. Tyrion last. He . . . he paid gold.”

“What did he want of you?”

“To humiliate Tyrion. I, I don’t, don’t know why.”

“No,” I clarified, “what did Tyrion want when he spoke with you outside the audience hall?”

“To . . . to apologize, and marry me . . . marry me again.”

“Do you wish to?”

“He _raped_ me!” Calye seemed shocked that I would even ask. “Let me be . . . be your slave for, for the rest of my life. Let me, let me die for you if I must. But don’t make . . . don’t make me fuck that little monster. I, I, I swear I’ll cut my . . . cut my own throat first.”

“You’re mine,” I said. “That’s my promise. Same as I made to Doreah. No one makes love to you except me.”

“You do . . . you do love me.”

“No,” I said, though looking back, perhaps I lied to her as well as to myself. “But I don’t share what’s mine.”

I did, however, share what belonged to others.

“Do you want me to order him killed?”

“No,” she said, smiling as she decided that this offer, too, was a sign of love. “It was a . . . a long time ago. And you taught me to, to do my own killing.”

* * *

I had read that Aegon the Conqueror, the first Targaryen king of Westeros, had a massive table shaped like the continent and topped with a relief map. I liked the idea so much that I had commissioned its replica, with one of Essos as well. They would rest in the conference chamber on the 32nd level of the pyramid, adjacent to the audience hall. While the artists worked, I had Doreah spread paper maps on a large rectangular table while I met over breakfast with Melennis, Groleo and Ko Qhono.

“When we are finished here in Meereen,” I told them, “it will be time to look toward Westeros. We need to start considering how to move our army across the Narrow Sea.”

“That’s expected,” Melennis said. “But I’d advise doing so from one of the western ports, Pentos or Myr.”

He stood and went to the map, pointing out a large peninsula to the west of Slaver’s Bay.

“Sailing past Valyria is always difficult,” he said. “Strange currents, poisonous winds, odd patches of boiling or noxious water. I don’t think you want to do that with loaded troop transports.”

I had read of the Doom of Valyria. Four hundred years previously, a series of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions had destroyed an advanced empire ruled by dragon riders.

“Then how,” I asked, “did these cities sell their slaves to the Western cities?”

“They sailed well south, often sighting the coasts of Sothoryos and the Summer Isles. That meant significant wastage. I assumed you didn’t want to pay that price with your armies.”

The map bothered me. For the conditions that had been described, and those that I had experienced, the positions of Valyria and Slaver’s Bay should be reversed. That would explain the relative isolation of Qarth, and allow free trade between the slave cities and their customers. But that was not what the map said of this world’s geography.

I didn’t doubt the sailors; their thoughts proved them sincere. They had experienced these terrors in the seas south of Valyria, and many ships were claimed every year trying to sail between Slaver’s Bay and the Free Cities. Yet there’s nothing in this world, or in mine, cheaper than human flesh. How had the slave cities exported thousands of slaves through these hellish seas? I would have to simply accept this strange reality, and deal with it as best I could.

“Ko Qhono,” I asked, “can we march west and avoid Valyria?”

“Not directly, my khal,” he said. “The Demon Road is lined with poisoned wells and deadly fumes. Much like the waters Jaeron Melennis describes. Messengers and scouts on fast horses, yes. Whole armies would perish. The Painted Mountains it runs through, these are even more deadly.”

“Send scouts to the north-west, then,” I said. “Seek a march route to the north of the Painted Mountains, along the southern fringe of the Great Grass Sea. A route our entire army can safely follow, obtaining food, fodder and water along the way.”

He nodded, having overseen this task during our long campaign against the Jogos Nhai. I turned back to the admirals.

“We will need the fleet to meet the army,” I said. “Most likely at Pentos, though we may use both Pentos and Myr. How difficult is the route, once Valyria’s been cleared?”

“There’s a chokepoint here,” Melennis said, indicating a chain of islands linking Essos and Westeros. “Islands known as the Stepstones, for obvious reasons. At the eastern end the city of Lys to the south and Tyrosh to the north exert power with their fleets. The Stepstones themselves are rife with pirate nests. That’s a danger for individual ships, much less for a fleet. But they could pick off individual supply ships, or stragglers from our convoys.

“Sailing directly from Meereen to Pentos is possible. I’ve done it myself. But it puts enormous stress on ships and men, and we’ll lose some of both without a way station. Most traders put in at Lys or Volantis.”

“Both of them,” I asked, “large, well-fortified cities?”

“That they are,” Melennis said. “And even if we could take them, we’d need to refit the fleet first. And there’s nowhere to do that.”

A flash of thought from Groleo disagreed.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a river mouth on the southern coast of Essos, well west of Volantis. “This is Galati, a small port. Galati is totally dominated by Lys. This is where trade between Lys and the Disputed Lands takes place. Farm products to the city, manufactures to the countryside. It’s where the Lyseni organize and supply their sellsword armies when they fight for the mainland.”

“How large is the port?” I asked.

“Large enough,” he answered. “The facilities aren’t much, but the anchorage is wide and deep, enough to take hundreds of ships. We’d have to careen ships on the beaches and do most of the repair work ourselves. But it can be done.”

“On the beach,” I pointed out, “your ships will be absolutely vulnerable to attack by the Lyseni or the Volantenes.”

“So they will,” Groleo allowed, and he looked directly into my eyes. “You’ll have to meet us there with your army, and arrive first to secure the port and the area around it.”

“Ko Qhono,” I said, “is this possible?”

“I don’t know, my khal,” he said in Bastard Valyrian, looking closely at the map. He was one of the few kos with a solid understanding of cartography. “No map matches another. I will send scouts but it will be a full turn of the moon, perhaps two, before they report back.”

I nodded.

“Send multiple scouting parties,” I said. “Be sure that someone returns with the news we seek.”

“As you say, my khal.”

I turned back to the admirals.

“Assuming Ko Qhono returns a favorable report, and we can seize the port, is there any need to then take one of the cities?”

“Less of one,” Melennis allowed. “But that doesn’t eliminate the Lysene fleet, or give us a base with a true shipyard.”

“You wish secure communications between your current domain and the new lands, yes?” Groleo added. I nodded. “I would recommend that we capture both Lys and Tyrosh, and sweep the Stepstones clear of pirates. At the very least we should take Lys.”

The admirals made good sense, but I feared becoming entangled in a lengthy campaign expensive in both blood and treasure.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” I said, dismissing them. I remained, studying the maps and considering the complexities of a combined land and naval campaign such as that proposed by Groleo. Even if we could manage the logistics and the timing, we might fail before the walls of Lys. I saw Doreah eying the breakfast spread; she had been waiting for all of us to leave before indulging.

“Fill a plate,” I told her. “I have some questions for you.”

She began to do so, moving calmly so as not to display her nervousness at my demand. She did not know what I might wish to know, and feared that it had to do with my wife’s sexual adventures during my absence in Qarth. I now learned from Doreah’s anxious thoughts that Daenerys had ordered both Doreah and Irri to tend to her needs. This had greatly upset Irri, who did not enjoy relations with other women. I was not pleased, but I had other reasons for quizzing my lovely bed slave.

“You’re from Lys,” I said. “How old were you when you left?”

She took a seat at the conference table, her plate piled with scrambled eggs - a dish I had taught my chef to prepare - grilled fish and bacon. She wore a Qartheen dress baring the left side of her bosom, as I had ordered for all women of the court.

“Sixteen,” she said. “Nine years ago. I had already spent two years in a pillow house in Lys, but it’s typical to sell or move all but the most beautiful.”

“That didn’t include you?”

She laughed derisively.

“My nose is too wide, my eyes too dark a blue and my nipples too small.” She pointed at her exposed bosom with a rasher of bacon. “The house mistresses have a whole set of charts to measure beauty. And this may shock you, but it’s been said that I have a bad attitude. When I hit sixteen and wasn’t likely to outgrow my flaws, off I went to Pentos. You know the rest of the story. I was 24 when Illyrio bought me for you and your princess, at the peak of my value. The fat man would say that my value’s dropping faster than my tits will, John Carter.”

She still seemed beautiful to me, at least her outer appearance. She hoped to evoke pity with her story, but I had called her to the table for a purpose.

“Tell me about Lys.”

“Lys the Beautiful they call it,” she said. “And it is. A city of art and music and flowers. It’s dedicated to pleasure. Food, sex, music, drink. Games of chance. The rich come from all over the world, to leave their riches behind.”

“Lys is powerful?”

“I have no idea,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “There’s a navy, I only know because I fucked a couple of its captains, the only ones who could afford me. I don’t know how many ships, that sort of thing. I do know that there’s no army other than a City Watch and some sellswords. Lys is rich, though, so I presume the Magistrate can hire as many as he likes.”

“Who rules in Lys?”

“You’re asking _me_ that?”

“I just did. Who else would I ask?”

She laughed, rather unpleasantly.

“Your creamy-skinned lover Lynesse,” she said, “she of the perfect nose, perfect eyes and perfect tits, was First Concubine to the Magistrate of Lys, Tregar Ormollen, before leaving his bed for yours.”

“She’s a married woman.”

Another unpleasant laugh followed. She paused to eat some eggs, then gestured with her fork.

“A married woman who you gleefully fuck,” she said, smiling again at my discomfort. “She’s not married, John Carter. She’s a whore, just like me. Well, not just like me. She’s a concubine, a private whore dedicated to one customer. Much higher status. Ormollen dissolved her marriage to Mormont when he wanted to take her for himself. She never told you?”

“No. We’ve not exchanged many words.” I thought to become angry, but Doreah’s thoughts showed her to be speaking the truth.

“So I gathered,” she said, enjoying my embarrassment. “She shared the bed of the most powerful man in Lys. She can tell you far more than I can. I never met the man, much less fucked him.”

I experienced a flash of jealousy, which Doreah instantly noticed.

“What, you thought her a virgin? She knows how to use her cunt to bring her what she wants. Bending men to her will is about the only thing bouncing around in that empty head. That, and how to fuck. Why do you think she’s here, and in your bath?”

Doreah returned to her breakfast. I had lost my appetite for questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter finds another woman with a concealed past.


	57. Chapter Forty (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris gets her loot on.

Chapter Forty (Dejah Thoris)

As we neared the Dreadfort we began to see more signs of human habitation: pastures, cropland and farms. The road now followed the line of a river, and we passed several water-powered mills that Tansy told me were used to grind grain. A small village included two inns, and we took one over to bathe again and sleep in actual beds.

I detected no living thoughts beyond those of trees and small animals.

“It’s spooky,” Jory said as we ate a fine stew that she had made of cow meat, which is known as beef, and the ground-dwelling vegetables called potatoes. “It’s like they all just disappeared.”

“Judging by the smashed doors and bloodstains,” Lyra said, “someone or something broke into most of the other buildings and killed whoever they found inside. Why this one didn’t get the same treatment, I can’t tell.”

“They must have fled,” Tansy said. “Into one of the others that they felt was more secure. It didn’t help them.” She looked at me. “Did it?”

“I can feel no thoughts, living or not-dead. This village is as devoid of human life as it seems.”

My mare refused to enter a stall in the undamaged barn we had selected; horses do not like to contemplate death, and she believed that at least one horse had died in the barn. I could see no evidence, and no corpses, but horses have a far better sense of smell than do humans. I had seen no not-dead horses among the armies of the dead we had encountered, and I hoped horses had not been raised by the Others.

Our ride continued. We collected more horses as we moved on; they had become desperate for human care and companionship. Lyra noticed two oxen at one farm.

“If there’s a great deal of gold,” she said to me, “those could prove very handy.”

“They pull wagons, like horses?”

“They do, but not like horses. They’re deeply stupid, and need constant guidance. And they stop when and where they please. But they’re enormously strong. Beth was wrong; they’re stronger than you are.”

I did not like being compared to an ox, but I knew that my adoptive sister was not being serious. We left the oxen in their pasture, and rode on along the river road. The constant reminders of the war of the dead upon the living troubled all of my sisters, and even me. By the time we approached our goal, all of us had become somewhat nervous.

We camped under a large tree within sight of the castle, and mounted up in the early morning light. The Dreadfort was a large, stone fortress of surpassing ugliness. It had been named, and built, to intimidate, but I was not impressed by a primitive heap of rocks or a name dreamed up by a morose child. I could detect no life within.

“This is where the Boltons held me,” Beth said. “Raped me. Tortured me. And worse.”

“Do you still want to enter?” I asked her.

“And help you burn it to the ground? Of course I do.”

“I do not want to be here after dark,” I said. “We have one day to loot this place and then destroy it.”

“Agreed,” Lyra said, turning to look at Beth, Tansy and Jory. “We’re going to have to work fast. A whole day isn’t a whole lot of time for what we want to do here.”

We rode up to the main gate. A drawbridge over a dry moat had been pulled up. The heavy wooden doors, studded with iron bolts, had been closed which probably meant that the iron protective bars known as a “portcullis” had been dropped into place behind them. There were a number of ragged corpses around the gate, sprawled in various positions. Some appeared to have been smashed. I studied them from horseback and realized what must have happened.

“I believe that these people were part of the army of the dead,” I said. “It appears they were attacking the castle when I activated the Wall and ended their re-animation.”

“How are we going to get inside?” Lyra asked.

“Wait here,” I said. “I will climb the wall and open the gate.”

“You can climb that?” Jory asked.

“I have many skills.”

I dismounted and looked at the wall. It was very old and had not been maintained well, and had a subtle inward slope. The mortar had fallen away from most of the joints, and my fingers easily fit between the stones. I quickly climbed to the top and straddled the edge of the fighting platform to look back at my sisters. The merlons, the raised portions of the parapet, were pointed as opposed to the square shape common in these lands. I supposed that was intended to evoke a feeling of dread in anyone approaching, but it only looked stupid to me. A defender would find it much harder to hide from an attacker’s arrows.

My climbing skills had impressed my companions. I took a silly, petty pride in their admiration. I waved and then slung my leg over the edge to look for the stairs leading to the gate.

The parapet was empty, which seemed odd given the evidence of attackers outside the gate. Apparently none of the not-dead had climbed the walls here, and the living had rushed away to meet their deaths elsewhere. I walked down the steps and likewise saw no defenders at the bottom, though there were some bodies in the middle of the wide, open yard. The drawbridge was controlled by a large system of chains wrapped around a pair of heavy drums in two small rooms above the gate; I had studied this type of machinery before our assault on Harrenhal, in case I had been called on to open the gates there. I drew my sword and cut the chain in the first room, and the bridge crashed down. I went up a narrow, circular stair to the upper room and did the same to the drum there, dropping the counter-weight and opening the portcullis with another loud crash. The sounds echoed eerily through the empty castle.

Neither room had held any corpses. I walked to the gate and pulled out its heavy crossbar. The heavy wooden doors swung open on their own.

Beth rode through the open gate first, dismounted, and drew her sword. Lyra, Jory and Tansy followed, my adoptive sisters leaving their own weapons sheathed.

“No one’s home?” Jory asked.

“It does not appear so,” I said. “Leave the horses here and we will investigate.”

We climbed back up the stairs to the parapet, where we could see more of the castle, and walked along it until we came to another gate that faced the river. Here the dead had piled themselves against the wall to form a ramp so others could surge to the top and swarm over the edge. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of corpses filled the moat; some of them apparently old and rotted, other very fresh with red bloodstains still visible on their more or less intact clothing.

This crisis must have been the reason the defenders had abandoned the other gate. The Bolton troops had set many of the dead attackers alight and we could still see the ashes they had left behind. At least twenty horribly mangled bodies showed where the dead had caught up with the soldiers.

“Do you know your way around this place?” I asked Beth, trying to break her gaze away from the corpses.

“Not really,” she said. “I was usually kept in the cells, under the keep there I think,” she said, pointing to the very large, square stone building that took up most of the castle’s center. It also sported fortifications, a gate and a fighting parapet. The gate was open and I could see a few bodies strewn about it.

“The commander of the castle, named Walton, said I was too pretty for his soldiers.,” Beth went on. “When he wanted me, they’d drag me to his chambers and hold me down so he could rape me. A few of them seemed to think that if they gave me enough bruises, I wouldn’t be pretty and they could have their turn, too. They’re the ones who broke my nose. But I was sold before they made me ugly enough to have their turns.”

“This is hard for you,” I said. “I am sorry. Was it a mistake to bring you here?”

“No. Let’s find out if any of them still live, and kill them.”

“This place does not feel the same as Last Hearth,” I said. “Yet I am still uneasy. Remain in two groups. Beth with me, Jory and Tansy with Lyra. Do not pass out of sight of your sisters.”

Lyra led the way into the buildings along the edges of the courtyard, while Beth and I searched the keep. I sheathed my sword and picked up a large ax I found leaning against the wall just inside the gate to the keep. We walked up the stairs to where Beth said the castle’s ruler would be located.

We found the man Beth identified as Walton in the room known as the “solar,” an office space with large windows overlooking the river. He sat behind the desk, an odd position to have occupied while the dead besieged his castle, and one of the dead had torn out his throat. His dead killer sprawled over the desk, having apparently expired himself moments after killing Walton.

I slung the body onto the floor and smashed the desk with the axe, scattering its contents. An obsidian dagger skittered across the polished wood floor; perhaps Walton had been seeking this when the dead man reached him first. There were also papers, writing instruments and a number of small cloth bags with gold coins in them.

Beth had found a cloth sack, and I dropped the money within while she held it open.

“That would be the castle’s ready supply,” she said. “There should be more in here somewhere or maybe in Roose Bolton’s chambers. He wouldn’t have trusted it far out of his sight.”

She stopped me as I started to drop the last little bag into the sack. It was different from the others, made of soft blue leather.

“I recognize this one. This is the price the Tyroshi slaver paid for me.”

I handed it to her.

“And now you belong to yourself.”

“And now I belong to myself.”

We looked through the solar, finding a few locked chests. I broke them open, but we found nothing interesting within. We left the solar and followed a corridor into the center of the keep, which had a large, vaulted chamber with balconies above where one could look down from the floors above. Large colored-glass windows in the ceiling admitted light. I had not thought to find such a lovely room in such a dreadful place. Then Beth gasped and I followed her gaze to the walls.

I had expected works of art – tapestries, or perhaps paintings. Maybe even sculptures. Instead these walls had been hung with human skins, each labelled with words Beth said were the name of its owner and the date and circumstances of his or her flaying.

“They’ve skinned their enemies for thousands of years,” Beth explained. “They’re very proud of it; they even use the Flayed Man as their house symbol.”

“Why did no one exterminate this family many years ago?”

I had agreed to burn this castle because I hoped it would help heal my friend’s trauma. I now wished to do so for my own reasons.

“This place must burn,” I told Beth. “Every building.”

She nodded silently.

We went up the stairs to the next floor, and found large bed-chambers there apparently belonging to the lords of the castle. The largest and most richly furnished looked to have been that of Lord Roose Bolton – at least, Beth identified his name on documents we found on the chamber’s writing desk.

“Can you search some of these rooms without me?” I asked Beth.

“I think so. Can I come running back if I see something frightening?”

“Of course,” I said. “Look for money or other valuables, and more cloth sacks. I am going to take this axe to Lord Roose Bolton’s apartment.”

She left, and I proceeded to do exactly that. Roose Bolton had a private balcony opening onto the chamber of horrors within as well as another on the outside wall overlooking the castle courtyard; I threw all of his furniture through the doorway leading to the inner balcony to crash into the middle of his art collection. His clothing followed. I ripped all of the tapestries off the walls and threw them out as well; I saw no hiding places sunk into the stone walls that they had covered.

Next, I took the axe to the shining dark wood of the floor. I fancied that Roose Bolton had loved this castle and that its destruction would trouble him, but truly, there is no afterlife and the dead are therefore not insulted by such desecration. But it helped fuel my anger as I cut open the floorboards and ripped them upward. These I also threw into the art gallery, where they landed with loud clatters. I enjoyed the sounds of wanton destruction.

Eventually I found what I sought: sixty-one very large and extremely heavy iron-reinforced wooden chests hidden under the floorboards in a special compartment also heavily reinforced to bear the weight. I struck the locks off of the first and looked inside, and was not disappointed. Each held a large quantity of the gold coins called dragons; some of the coins were of similar size but had different markings and a few had different shapes.

I called loudly for Beth, and she came running into the room, sword drawn.

“There are no enemies,” I assured her. “Only money. Please go to the stables and determine if there are wagons to be had, at least two and preferably three or four. If you encounter Jory ask her to assist you.”

She nodded curtly, sheathed her sword and left.

I carried the treasure down to the courtyard – the chests were far too heavy for my sisters to handle. The work took me at least two hours, and I gave Lyra the axe so she could indulge in some mindless wrecking of her own.

“We have the eleven spare horses and two mules that we brought,” Beth reported as I carried yet another chest outside. “Plus three horses Jory found that seem healthy enough to work, two more that aren’t. She also found two more mules.”

“Any wagons?”

“Plenty,” she said. “Three is enough, do you think?”

“Ask Tansy, she knows many useful things. I do not know if we can hitch mules and horses together.”

“We can always use the mules as pack animals.”

“That is a good idea.”

“We’ll need you,” she said, “to lift the gold into the wagons.”

“Even then it will be difficult. We will need heavy pieces of wood to use as ramps so we can slide the chests up into the wagons.”

“How much gold do you think there is?”

I thought for a few moments, doing the mathematics in my head.

“I would estimate about 8,000 pieces in each chest, perhaps slightly more. With sixty-one of them, that would make about half a million coins.”

“That’s . . . extraordinary.”

“Did you or the others find anything else of value?”

“Gold tableware from the lord’s private dining room,” Beth said, “and some fine swords from the armory and some lordling’s room, either Ramsay or Roose’s dead son. We put them next to the gold in the courtyard.”

“Under the castle there should be supplies of firewood,” I said. “Are you able to go there?”

“I’d rather stay clear of the cells if it’s all the same to you.”

“It is,” I said, having expected the answer. “Ask Tansy to help you search the kitchens for lamp oil or anything else flammable. Jory and Lyra can bring up the dry wood.”

When I had finished moving the gold, I went down the stairs into the cellars below. The prison cells took up much of the space; they were dank and filled with horrors. Corpses were strewn everywhere. Some of them had been not-dead attackers, some had been guards, some were prisoners who had been safe behind their locked doors and then starved while chained in their cells. The Boltons had held hundreds of prisoners, at least some of them wildlings as Beth had said.

I imagined my friend chained there and shuddered. I entered a small room with a large wooden cross fitted with shackles. The corpse of what appeared to be a nude young woman still hung there, facing the wood to expose her back and buttocks. She had struggled to escape but had not been able to break free. Like Beth, she had been whipped.

A small table nearby held instruments I recognized, for we have this barbaric practice on Barsoom as well. This was a torture chamber. Had Beth been whipped here, strapped to the wooden cross like the corpse now spread there? I grew very angry, and eager to burn this awful castle. I searched closely for any thought patterns but had I found Bolton survivors I would have left them to burn.

Finding the firewood stores, I started by laying fire stacks among the cells, to be sure the bodies would be incinerated. My sisters did the same in all the chambers of the ground floor. The Boltons had laid in a massive store of very dry wood, much of it impregnated with dried tree resin that would explode when touched by flame. We could have spent many of this planet’s weeks hauling it out of the depths, but a day’s work was plenty to prepare for our act of arson; I had no wish to be in this dreadful castle after the sun set.

I had just left the dungeons when Beth found me. She and Tansy had located a large store of lamp oil – enough for years of use – and we rolled barrels of it into the keep and the other buildings, where I stove them in with the axe and let the heavy liquid flow around the piles of kindling. I dragged several barrels to the top of the walls, knocked open their tops and let them roll down the ramp of corpses to be sure that they would not rise again as not-dead warriors.

I did not tell Beth what I had found under the keep.

Tansy looted the kitchens for food and wine while the rest of us dragged the bodies from the yard and the gates and threw them into the nearest buildings. I did not want any of them rising again, should the Others somehow return. Some of the bodies fell apart as we hauled them, and I washed my hands and arms thoroughly in a basin I found inside the keep.

I had not eaten for a long while, and ravenously consumed the biscuits stuffed with smoked ham that Tansy brought me. The Dreadfort sat atop huge stockpiles of stored food, and I considered whether Beth’s vengeance was worth putting all of those supplies to the torch. I reasoned that no hungry people survived anywhere near this ugly castle, but knew that thought for a rationalization. It still felt irresponsible to commit the grain and other useful stores to the flames.

Lyra found thick planks of wood, and I used them as ramps to slide the chests of gold into the wagons; at Tansy’s direction we chose to load three of them and hitch four horses to each. I did not know if that would be enough; the gold was very heavy.

Night was falling as we finished our last preparation, a large number of torches Lyra had jammed into the soft ground just inside the main gate while I loaded the gold. Jory sparked a fire from her flint and steel, and set them all alight.

“You first,” I said to Beth. She smiled, this time a very unpleasant smile, and took up a torch in each hand. She walked to the keep and threw one in, then tossed another into the barracks. We all joined in and set all of the buildings alight, including the gatehouses, then mounted up and left this horrible place. As the lamp oil caught, the buildings burned furiously, the stone exteriors acting as chimneys to pull in air and create a draft effect.

We opened the gate on the river side of the castle and rode out to make our way upriver in the gathering darkness. The flames climbed ever higher behind us. We and our horses cast long shadows on the river road.

“Burn!” Tansy’s raven screeched from his perch on her saddle’s cantle. “Burn! Burn!”

When we reached an open hilltop overlooking the burning castle, we stopped and dismounted. Tansy had brought a cask of wine, a very fine vintage she said came from a wine-growing island called The Arbor. Truly, these people had no imagination in naming their lands; they also knew nothing of bottling. Tansy knocked the cask’s top open and we sat in a row, side-by-side on the grassy hilltop in the darkness, each drinking from the polished horn of some beast and watching the castle burn.

“We have no means of sealing that cask again,” Tansy said as she handed horns of wine to me and to Lyra. “And this is far too good a wine to allow to turn.”

I sipped the wine; as usual Tansy was right. This wine went down very smoothly, unlike some of the viscous vintages I had encountered in these lands, with no aftertaste at all and none of the cloying sweetness many of the Westerosi seemed to prefer. Tansy took a spot between Lyra and I.

“It takes a very good friend,” Tansy said, “to help you burn a castle to the ground.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Beth said.

“Dejah,” I corrected. “Do you feel better for burning the Dreadfort?”

“Who does something like that? It’s a revenge fantasy come to life. I mean, I know they’re all dead so they’ll never know. But still. We burned their fucking castle. No one will ever skin anyone there again.”

“You know that I am a woman of . . . knowledge and reason,” I said, stumbling again over their lack of a word for science. Beth nodded. “But even I felt the evil in that place. I had strange sensations all over.”

“The phrase is, ‘It made my skin crawl.’”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “It made my skin crawl.”

“Mine too,” Beth said. “And not just because of what happened to me. That place needed burning.”

“And we have their gold,” Lyra added. “A great deal of gold.”

“How much gold?” I asked.

“I thought you said a half-million dragons.”

“I did. I wondered what that meant in practical terms.”

“Tansy?” Lyra asked.

“Well,” my sister drew out the word as she thought, “a very good horse can cost up to three dragons. One dragon would pay all of my workers for a month. A good hard fuck with a highly-sought courtesan would run ten silver stags, one stag for a street whore.”

“Stags?”

“The silver coin. Two hundred ten of them make one dragon.”

“So,” I asked, “a desirable courtesan would need to give orgasm ten million times to make this much money?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever put it quite like that.”

“Most folk don’t use coin at all,” Lyra added. “So it’s hard to put an exact figure on it. But it’s a great deal of money, easily enough to buy all of Bear Island several times over.”

“We’ll have to be very careful,” Jory said. “If anyone finds out, it won’t just be wildlings landing on the island.”

“Have we made a mistake?” I asked.

“No,” Lyra said, decisively. “We’ll have to be very careful moving the gold from here to Bear Island, and then secure it deep in the vaults under Mormont Keep. Jory’s right; we’ll be fighting the Iron Born every third day if they know we have this treasure.”

“So we should avoid Winterfell,” I said.

“I think so,” Lyra answered.

“And Deepwood Motte,” Jory added.

“Deepwood Motte?” I asked.

“Seat of Lord Glover,” Lyra explained. “A wooden fortress, not that different from our own Mormont Keep. There’s a small fishing port nearby and that’s where we usually take ship for Bear Island when we visit the mainland. I think we could trust Galbart Glover, but there would be other eyes there belonging to people we don’t even know.”

“So we sneak?”

“We sneak,” Lyra nodded.

“I am very sneaky.”

“You’re going to need to be,” Lyra smiled. “It’s not easy to hide a train of wagons. And then we have to get the gold on a ship to Bear Island.”

“A large fishing boat will do,” Jory said. “Take it on in some isolated cove, unload it in Mormont Port after dark.”

“How much does the gold weigh?” Lyra asked me. I turned to Tansy.

“One ounce per coin,” she said. “Twelve ounces of gold per pound. That’s only for gold; it’s sixteen ounces for anything else. Two thousand pounds per ton.”

“Just over twenty tons,” I said, promptly.

“How did you do that?” Lyra said. “All in your head, and so fast?”

“I have many skills.”

“No doubt,” she said, shaking her head. “Twenty tons, and it’s concentrated. I don’t think a fishing boat can carry that, even a large one.”

“Then we’ll have to summon one of the ships,” Jory said. “They can carry horses, surely they can carry the gold if it’s balanced carefully.”

“And how,” Lyra countered, “do we tell the ship when and where to meet us?”

“We don’t,” our little sister said, pointing at the raven. “He does.”

“Sneak!” said the raven. “Sneak! Sneak!”

“You’re drunk,” scolded the older Mormont.

“Probably,” Jory answered. “That doesn’t make me wrong.”

The castle burned brightly, and occasionally we could hear crashing sounds as ceilings collapsed, even at our distance. By the time the keep fell in on itself with a massive roar accompanied by sparks and flame, we were already very drunk.

As on Barsoom, alcohol heightened my emotions. I loved every one of my sisters, including Beth, who I thought of as my sister even if she did not.

That moment remains one of my most cherished memories: sitting on the hilltop covered in small newly-sprouted green plants, drinking wine and watching the Dreadfort burn, flanked by two of my sisters on either side of me, Lyra and Tansy pressed against me with Beth and Jory lying in front of us, their heads resting on our folded legs. The past is gone, and it is gone forever, but if I could return to any one moment and remain there, it would be that one. 

* * *

I awoke feeling as though some small furry animal had crawled into my mouth and died there during the night, but it was only my tongue. I sprawled on my back under the morning sky, with Beth’s head on my right shoulder and her right hand cupping my exposed left breast. I paused for a moment to enjoy her touch, then carefully and reluctantly moved her hand downward and pulled my tunic back in place before I shook her gently awake.

“Bleeble?” she asked.

Not trusting my words to come out any better, I simply nodded and pulled myself upright. Beth slid off onto the grass and lay face downward. I looked about, and saw Tansy sleeping next to me, and Jory on the other side of Beth; they appeared to have shuffled their positions since my last conscious memory. Lyra was nowhere to be seen, and I felt a jolt of panic before spotting her legs among those of the horses; I could not yet focus well enough to scan for others’ thoughts.

I silently called my horse over, and used the saddle girth to pull myself upright. In our drunken state, we had neglected to remove our horses’ tack and they had spent a very unpleasant night sweating under the heavy cloth and leather. My mare nudged me with her snout and sent reproving thoughts my way. I patted her and apologized; she was not mollified.

I took the large water-skin from my saddle and poured some into my mouth, rinsed and spat. I still felt awful. I took a long pull on the skin and felt only a little better. In Helium we had pharmaceuticals that would cure this state immediately. On this planet I would have to suffer.

I staggered back to where my apprentice and sisters lay and sat down heavily next to Beth’s prostrate form. I rolled her over and held out the water skin.

“Drink,” I said. “Drink until you piss like a fish.”

“No more. Please. No more.”

“It is water. It will help the headache if you drink a great deal of it.”

“Throw up first.”

She got to her feet and walked unsteadily toward some nearby bushes. She passed behind them and I heard some horrific retching sounds. Her thoughts said that she considered it possible she might die there, and was unsure whether this would be a good thing or not. She urinated as well and then returned to sit next to me, taking the skin and repeating my ritual of rinsing and spitting.

She gestured toward the castle with the water skin.

“Still burning.”

And it was. Much had been blackened, and all of the buildings had fallen, but flames could still be seen licking across their shattered timbers.

“Feel better?”

“Head hurts. Soul rested.”

“Truly?”

“No,” she said. “But good line. Would be if could speak right.”

Lyra came and sat heavily between us, taking the water skin from my hands and drinking deeply herself.

“We were too drunk to take the saddles off of the horses last night,” she said, her voice even huskier than usual. “If we take them off the horses can rest while we lie here under the sun until we feel better. I didn’t want to start until you were awake and could talk to the horses.”

“Good idea.”

I helped Lyra pull the saddles off the horses, and asked the beasts to remain in place while we slept. Knowing they would forget and wander away, I replaced the hobbles linking their front feet. I returned to spread a blanket on the grass next to Beth. She lay with her head cradled on her arms and her eyes closed. When I rolled her onto the blanket and lay down next to her she opened them and looked into mine. Her eyes were a beautiful, very deep blue.

“Safe with you,” she said.

“Safe with you too,” I said, and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris abolishes a tiny part of the slave trade.


	58. Chapter Forty-One (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris curses oxen.

Chapter Forty-One (Dejah Thoris)

I awakened again, this time to find Beth and Jory standing nearby, leaning from side to side in hopes of relieving tight spots in their backs. The sun had passed its uppermost point. I drank more water.

“Any better?” Beth asked me.

“Possibly. Are you well?”

“I can speak now,” she said. “And I can move without as much pain. I think I can even ride.”

I stood and gingerly walked over to my young sisters.

“Stand here and place your arms like so,” I said, pulling Beth’s elbows behind her. I looped Jory’s arms through hers and gently pushed Beth forward onto Jory’s back, letting Beth’s feet dangle in the air. Her spine re-aligned with a series of audible popping noises.

“Gods that feels wonderful,” she said. “Let me down.”

Jory did, and Beth leaned forward herself, intending to return the favor. She slipped and fell forward. The two of them rolled some distance down the hill in a tangle of arms and legs while I chased after them.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, concerned.

“No,” said a muffled voice. Beth’s head was caught under Jory’s thigh, smashed face-first into the small yellow flowers. Jory quickly scrambled off of her and helped Beth to her feet.

“Well that didn’t work.” Beth shook herself.

I walked back up the slope to sit next to Tansy, who had finally awakened.

“I almost worried about you,” I said, handing her the water skin. She drank greedily.

“I’m supposed to be able to hold my wine,” she said. “Maybe not quite that much wine.”

“You are well?”

“A few days’ sleep and I will be. What’s his problem?”

Her raven had landed in front of us, and proceeded to hop up and down.

“See!” it shrieked. “See! See!”

I tried to focus on his mind, and saw an image of a ship on a river. Looking down near the Dreadfort, I saw that a ship had indeed come up the river while we slept and tied up at the small landing that served the castle. I had not detected this, and had not thought of such a possibility at all. I pointed it out to Tansy.

“He is right,” I said.

“Glad now that we brought him along?”

“I never objected to the raven.”

“Can you read their thoughts from here?” she asked.

“No, it is too far.”

“Do you think we’re in danger?”

“If we can see them,” I said, “they can see us. Or at least they can see the wagons. I have been foolish.”

“We’re all women grown,” Tansy said, “or close enough. We’re capable of, you know, thinking. Or at least we should be. No one objected to staying here and drinking ourselves blind.”

“I promised to protect you.”

“And you’ve done a fine job of it. You’ll take care of this problem, too.”

Seeing us pointing, Lyra walked over and sat on the other side of Tansy, who showed her the ship.

“Pirates?” she asked. “Traders?”

“Slavers,” Beth said, coming to join us along with Jory. “See the hammocks on the main deck, and the large cabin? They use everything below the main deck for human cargo. Usually they just chain the hatches shut for the whole voyage, and lower a few buckets of food and water every day or two.”

“How do people survive?” Jory wondered aloud.

“Many don’t,” Beth said. “Those who live . . . do things.”

She did not mention what she had done to survive and, having promised, I did not look into her mind to see. I knew that I did not wish to see. Instead I squeezed her hand; she squeezed it back.

“What should we do about it?” Tansy asked me. “Or should we do anything at all?”

I thought about her question, as I watched several men leave the ship and start up the road toward our grassy hillock. We would have to confront them; even if we could make the wagons ready to move before they arrived, they would quickly catch up with us, even on foot.

“Lyra and I will walk down the road and confront them,” I said. “Beth will come with us. You and Jory mount your horses and watch from here. If anything goes wrong, ride away. Do not come to our aid.”

“Then you’d better make sure nothing goes wrong, because I won’t leave you.”

“I would not see anything happen to Jory,” I said. “I swore an oath to Trisha. She is my friend and I will not break my word to her.”

That gave my sister pause, but not Jory.

“I won’t leave you either,” she said. “But Tansy and I will stay out of your way.”

I decided to accept that rather than spend time losing an old argument again. I started back down the road on foot, with Lyra and Beth on either side of me. This was the first time Beth had worn a sword across her back, and its weight made her nervous.

“Are we going to kill them?” Beth asked, doing her best to hide her eagerness.

“Only if we cannot avoid it,” I said. “There has been enough bloodshed in this place.”

* * *

I drew my sword when the sailors came into sight; my companions followed suit. Beth forgot to pull downward on the scabbard when drawing her sword and had trouble pulling the blade free, embarrassing her. Six sailors approached, carrying wide, short blades like those many of the pirates aboard _Sweet Cersei_ had borne. They would do enormous damage to human flesh, if they connected, and their use did not require a great deal of skill.

We halted in a low spot in the road where we were visible from the hillock where Tansy and Jory waited, but not from the ship. The sailors approached without seeming to notice this, and one man moved in front of his fellows. All wore leggings but no tunics or shoes; the small stones littering the road must have been uncomfortable under their bare feet. They also suffered in the relative cold; I wondered why they had not donned more clothing.

I faced the leader of the sailors, who asked in his language what had happened to the still-smoldering castle. All three of us wore tight-fitting Night’s Watch black tunics and leggings and black cloaks, which puzzled him. He thought us all rather skinny for his tastes and disliked my skin tone, but he still intended to rape each of us should there be no men nearby to defend our virtue, in which case he would kill them first and then rape us. Beauty standards of this world seemed to prize fleshy, somewhat rounded women and slender, fit bodies such as ours were not considered as attractive. Both Lyra and Beth considered me somewhat vain regarding my physique. Perhaps they were right.

“I speak their language,” Beth said. “Let me try.”

I stepped aside, and locked my eyes on the sailor now in front of me. He had dyed his hair blue, apparently a common affectation among his people. Already intimidated by my larger size – he was small and thin – he could not meet my gaze and stared at the ground. I had found that many people here became uncomfortable when looked in the eye; this is not the case on Barsoom.

The sailors’ leader told Beth that they could take us to a safe place on their ship. His thoughts said he hoped we would come aboard the ship so they could rape us more easily and share us with their friends. He did not believe we knew how to use our swords, though some of his men thought differently. The man to my right, at the end of their line, noted the wear on my sword’s grip and its Valyrian steel and that of my sister Lyra’s blade. He shifted his feet nervously.

Beth told their leader, very curtly, that we needed no help and would be leaving now. The leader - he was not the ship’s captain, but rather his second-in-command, I learned from his thoughts - insisted that it was not safe to leave three women ashore alone and unprotected.

He now asked how she had learned their language. She told him that her father had been a trader. He named her a liar, and an escaped slave. She replied with a two-handed uppercut from her sword, cleaving open his belly. He screamed but somehow remained standing.

The fight, if one could call it that, lasted less than a minute. I slashed the throat of the skinny man with my sword in my left hand, while punching the nervous man with my right hand. He fell on his back, and I stabbed him through the heart before he could rise. His skinny friend collapsed across him and they both died there.

I had kept watch on my sisters with my thoughts, as Beth quickly killed another sailor before he could raise his blade. A third man lunged at her, but she recalled her training, stepped to the side and plunged the point of her sword into his lower back as he passed her. He sank to his knees and she sliced into the side of his neck, unleashing a spray of blood. Lyra parried the last man’s awkward swing and ran him through with her counter.

While the sailors’ leader had accused Beth, when she struck, he had not yet decided what if anything he should do - he had blurted out his statement the instant it occurred to him and he found himself sliced open before he could consider his actions. He had not yet fallen, but continued to stare at his massive belly wound. Beth stepped around to face him and snarled as she ran him through the heart with both hands on her sword’s hilt. He finally died and fell to the ground.

No one on the ship was as yet aware of what had happened to their shore party. Beth kept her sword raised in two-handed ready position, breathing hard and eager for more, even as all six men lay dead or dying. Lyra gently put her hand on Beth’s and pushed her sword down.

“That was . . . sudden,” Lyra said. “Are you alright?”

“He recognized me as an escaped slave. I had no choice.”

That was not true, though she believed it to be. The sailor had wished to rape her, and called her an escaped slave as an excuse. On this planet as on Barsoom, many people seemed to require justification from imaginary judges for their wrongful acts.

I did not know that I approved of Beth’s actions; they seemed rash and this concerned me, yet I had done worse since my arrival here. And she had no telepathic senses to guide her.

“I did nothing wrong,” she added.

“We’re all alive and unhurt,” Lyra said. “But let your leader decide when to spill blood and when to talk. That was Dejah’s decision to make.”

Lyra wished to let Beth’s indiscretion go without further reprimand; I was not sure that I agreed but neither did I know what I wished to tell her. And my head still hurt from our heavy drinking. I went along with my adoptive sister’s silent advice.

“You’re right,” Beth said. “I’m sorry. I’m really tense.”

“I can imagine,” Lyra said. “Dejah, what’s next?”

As we cleaned our blades, I considered our options. I could detect twelve men still on the ship. They would eventually either come looking for their comrades or leave, but at the moment had no concerns for the other sailors. If we turned and left, I did not know if they could overtake the slow-moving wagons. Or we could march down to the ship and kill them.

“We should kill them,” Beth said before I could speak. “All of them. And burn their ship.”

“They are on foot,” I said. “And unlikely to catch up with us if we leave immediately.”

“The wagons are going to be even slower when we reach a muddy stretch,” Beth countered. “If we can move them at all without you lifting them when they get stuck. If you’re lifting, you’re not fighting.”

“You wish to kill them.”

She hesitated, then answered truthfully.

“I do.”

“Are they slavers?” Lyra asked me.

“I do not know,” I said. “These men wished to rape us on their ship.”

“Then I’m with Beth,” Lyra said. “Let’s walk down there and kill them.”

I nodded, and we walked down the tree-lined, rutted road until we drew near the pier where the ship had tied up. We moved as quietly as we could through the trees and then behind the handful of storage buildings near the pier. We slipped into the back of the building closest to the pier, which allowed us to approach to within a very short distance of the ship without being seen. One man supposedly on guard sat on a piling, occasionally looking about but paying little attention. I could see no evidence of dead people.

A plank led from the pier to the ship, which was much smaller than _Sweet Cersei_. It had but one mast, and apparently had a single large triangular sail which was now bundled up. Aboard the ship four men sat around a dice game, while the captain sat in his cabin drinking alcohol and the rest of his crew napped in hammocks slung along the sides of the forward end of the ship.

I wondered if we were about to murder simple merchants, but put that thought aside. The men on the road had wished to rape my sisters. This crew would die.

“There is one guard,” I whispered. “I will open the door and charge across to the ship, and kill him. You two will follow directly behind me, first Lyra and then Beth. There are four men sitting on deck and gambling, one in a cabin to the right as we enter the deck. The other six are sleeping in hammocks, to the left. No one is below the main deck.

“Beth, to the left and kill the sleepers. Even if they still sleep. Lyra, the men playing dice are yours. I will go to the right and take care of the captain.”

They nodded. I drew my sword, opened the door, and ran to the pier. The guard looked up only as I reached him; I grabbed him by the throat with my right hand and threw him against the side of the ship. He hit the wooden planks with a loud thudding sound and sank unconscious under the water. But I was already aboard the ship by then.

Though I had assigned the game-players to Lyra, the closest was within easy reach as I boarded the ship so I kicked him soundly in the face and stabbed the man next to him in the neck. Then I turned toward the captain’s cabin. I kicked in the ornate door and the rather fat and completely bald captain looked up at me from behind a large desk covered with maps, dropping the glass holding his drink. It shattered on the deck.

“You made me spill my rum, bitch,” he said in a growling voice. “Who the hell are you?”

“Do you sell slaves?”

“Are you buying or selling? You already owe me for that drink.”

He did sell slaves, but had none on board.

“You should not have called me ‘bitch’.” I stabbed him in the throat with my sword, and he fell forward across his desk.

His crewmen were all dead when I came out of the cabin. Beth and Lyra were wiping down their swords; Lyra handed me a cloth one of the sailors had wrapped around his head.

“They were slave-traders,” I said. “Let us be on our way.”

“Can we burn this ship?” Beth asked.

“There is no compelling need,” I said. “But doing so would conceal what we have done here, and would please you.”

“It would,” Beth said. “But I left my flint with the wagons.”

“A ship should have a galley fire,” Lyra said. “Where they cook food.”

I went back into the captain’s cabin and took his nearly-full bottle of rum; he was not quite dead yet but did not object. Apparently, the peoples of the Eastern Continent knew of bottling technology, a skill lacking in Westeros. The fire burned in the cabin next to his, as Lyra had predicted, in an iron stove secured firmly to the deck. I kicked it loose and it spread its hot coals across the compartment, which I saw had indeed been used to prepare food. I backed up to the door, pushing my sisters behind me, and threw the bottle among the coals hard enough to shatter it. Flames leapt upward, and we ran across the deck and the plank back to the pier.

“I did not vomit,” I said in some wonder, as Beth used an axe to hack through the ropes holding the burning ship to the pier, allowing it to drift down the river. “Even though I boarded a ship.”

“So the trip to Bear Island should be easy,” Lyra said. “For both of you.” 

* * *

We returned to the hilltop and rejoined Tansy and Jory; they had seen the ship set alight and assumed it to be our doing. They did not ask what had become of the crew. Below us the castle still smoldered, but no open flames were visible. After we saddled our horses and mounted up, Beth saluted the ruin with the water skin.

“May you all burn in hell,” she said, very solemnly, “just like your Dreadfort.”

“Burn in hell,” my sisters and I repeated in unison.

Lyra, Jory and Tansy rode at the head of our little wagon train, followed by the wagons. Beth and I brought up the rear.

“You killed nine men today,” I said, once we were alone. “Was it as you imagined?”

“You would know the answer to that.”

“I told you that I would not casually read your thoughts. Does it trouble you, what we did today?”

“I had never seen you fight, not for real. You’re frightening.”

“That was not a real fight,” I said. “The men on the ship were taken by surprise. Those on the road only slightly less so. Only two had a chance to even draw a blade.”

“You picked up the guard and hurled him against the ship like he was a rag doll.”

“I am very strong,” I said. “And as I told you, I do not daydream during battle. It is a very serious affair demanding full concentration.”

“I didn’t either. Didn’t daydream, I mean. It was like everything slowed down, and I went through the sword exercises just as you taught. It was over before I had to parry a single attack.”

“And the killing?”

“Maybe there’s something wrong with me,” Beth said. “I know I’m supposed to feel something, but I don’t. I had a task to complete and I did it. I never felt as though I were in danger. It’s only since you asked that I’m starting to realize that I just ended nine people’s lives.”

She paused for a few moments.

“What do you feel?” she asked. “After something like that.”

“Like you do now, most of the time. Sometimes, usually later, I have regrets, and sometimes fear. But not always.”

“So why did you ask?”

“You are my apprentice, and that gives me an obligation to look after your spiritual well-being as well as your skill at arms. I often feel that there is something wrong with me as well, when I feel so little.”

“Perhaps we’re the normal ones.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “But I doubt many things.”

“I don’t say it enough. I’m really grateful that you agreed to teach me. I’m starting to feel like I have purpose again. And I don’t wish to die now. At least not as often. Thank you.”

She wanted to cry, so she kicked her horse up to a trot and rode to the front of our little wagon train, leaving me alone with my thoughts. She showed no emotion for those she had killed, only gratitude that I had taught her to do so.

Was I creating a monster in my own image? If so, it would be my responsibility to steer her away from my own path, to see that she did not become an emotionless killing machine like me. I would not abandon this woman I hoped to call sister.

* * *

The horses pulling the wagons did well without drivers; I wondered how we would explain this if we encountered other humans. I had noted on our ride to the Dreadfort that the road sloped steadily downward toward the sea; that now became an uphill slope on our return journey. The horses managed the added stress; I did not recall the incline becoming steeper but foolishly I had not paid close attention.

Jory, understanding my penchant for morose self-reflection, dropped back to keep me company at the rear of the procession.

“Do you know where we’re going?” she asked.

“Back up the road to Last Hearth and then the King’s Road,” I said. “I am unsure of our course afterwards. We will want to avoid other people.”

“It’s a very long journey.”

“Such is the way of adventures,” I said. “A few moments of excitement, many days of boredom.”

“We also have a mission from Ser Davos.”

“And we have seen nothing of the lands to the north-east. I have not forgotten, but I would see our house and island secured. This gold will see to that, and by taking it we also assure that it cannot be used by someone else to re-start the war.”

“Are you justifying our theft?”

“Somewhat so,” I admitted. “But the gold could be very dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“I’ve been thinking about how to get it to the island.”

“I hope you have an idea, for I have none.”

“At the western end of the Wall,” she said, “the Wall itself doesn’t actually extend to the sea, the Bay of Ice. The same body of water Bear Island lies upon.”

“What stops the wildlings and the Others? Or did before they died?”

“There’s a deep gorge, called The Gorge.”

Of course it was called “The Gorge.”

“It runs from an inlet of the Bay of Ice to the north-east,” Jory went on, “past the Wall. I suppose it ends somewhere north of the Wall, I don’t really know.”

“Does this Gorge stop wildlings?”

“Not really. Apparently you can cross it, but it’s difficult. There’s a large bridge at the end of the Wall.”

“Building a bridge there does not seem prudent.”

“No,” she agreed, “I suppose it wasn’t the best idea. Anyway, ships from Bear Island would bring supplies to the Night’s Watch, landing them at the inlet where the Gorge meets the sea. There was a cart track leading to the Wall from the sea, on the south side of the Gorge.”

“You have seen this yourself?”

“No. But Lyra has. I’m thinking we return to Castle Black, then take the wagons along the road on the south edge of the Wall to The Gorge, and on down to the sea. We send Tansy’s raven to Bear Island asking for a ship or a large fishing boat with a trusted crew. We load the gold and head off to Bear Island.”

“What of our horses?” I asked. “I would not wish to abandon my mare.”

She reached over and patted my horse, who had understood my distress on her behalf and become unsettled.

“No, we can’t do that. My uncle Jeor bought a ship fitted to transport horses, when he had hopes of our house becoming like any other, with knights and horses of our own. When I left the island, the ship was being used to transport fish to Deepwood Motte and sometimes as far as Seagard. It will stink, but it will serve for both your mare and the gold.”

That gave me much greater relief than I would have anticipated. Sensing my feelings, my mare nickered in response.

“Your plan,” I said, “would also allow us to search the western half of the Wall for Others or humans.”

“I hope we don’t find either,” she said. “I mean, I hope there were survivors. Just that we don’t run into them with four wagons filled with gold.”

“I agree.”

Lyra directed our little convoy up the river road a short distance and then took the fork to the Last Hearth. We had traveled this road just two days before, and already it seemed damper than before. My head still hurt terribly.

We found an abandoned cottage and spent the night there in actual beds, and in the morning Tansy fried bacon. All of us sat around the small home’s table to eat it along with boiled oats.

“I am feeling more of myself,” I said to break the silence.

“I don’t know what that is yet,” Beth finally answered. “But I think you helped me get a little closer to it.”

She finished her bacon and paused.

“Princess,” she finally said. “Lyra. I know you said I could stay with you as long as I liked. I think I would like to stay a very long time.”

“I would like that,” Lyra said. “Mother will be very happy.”

“Me, too,” Beth said.

We completed our exercises, and I practiced at swords with Lyra, Beth and Jory. I felt uneasy teaching my little sister to wield a blade, after what Beth had done on the previous day. I did not wish to see Jory become so casual about killing others.

When we finished, we loaded some oats we found in the cottage on one of the wagons, mounted up and headed north. We took along four ponderously slow oxen we had found; they reduced our progress considerably but Lyra believed we would need them when the mud became deep and unavoidable. I reasoned that if we did not need them to pull the wagons out of the mud or up hills, we could always eat them.

This time Lyra and Jory rode at the end of the train, and I led the way with Tansy and Beth to either side. I had agreed with Lyra that one of us needed to be at either end of the wagon train at all times.

“I don’t want to go through my life as the girl who was raped,” Beth said suddenly as we rode. “Woman who was raped, I guess now. For a long time that’s how I’ve thought of myself.

“I want to be more than that. They did terrible things to me. They don’t get to decide who I am now.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

She turned and looked me in the eye. I liked her directness. She smiled. I liked that even more.

“I want to keep training with you, and when you decide I’m ready, I want to fight for you and with you. I want to help you build your magical society on Bear Island, and help you protect it. I want to recruit other women to train as well, to help us protect our people.”

“No men?” Tansy asked.

“Well, of course men fight on Bear Island,” Beth said. “I mean that I want to help train women to fight, those who want to fight. Lyra told me the Mormonts lost most of their soldiers in the last war. They need to replenish them somehow, and I’ve been thinking that a group of fighting women could help with that.”

“We are all unusually large and strong,” I said. “Even Jory is larger than most women of these lands. Many lack the physical strength to handle a sword well, even if they had the training.”

“Most,” she said, “but not all. I understand that not all women would make good fighters. Most would not. But some will.”

I thought on her proposal. I knew that she was right, and that it would fit the Mormont tradition. We would strengthen House Mormont and give purpose to people who had lost theirs. I did not imagine there would be many such women – correctly, as events proved – but they would increase our house’s strength all the same.

“I am not the lady of House Mormont,” I finally said. “I think the idea has merit, but you will need to ask Lyra her thoughts, and take it to Maege if Lyra thinks it wise. The final say is hers.”

“Of course,” Beth said. “I’m sorry I overstepped things back at the ship.”

“I like this new way of thinking,” Tansy said. “You worried me.”

“I worried me, too,” Beth said. She reached into her tunic, and pulled out the small blue leather bag I had found in the Dreadfort. She had hung it on a leather thong and kept it between her breasts.

“Dejah said it. I belong to myself now. And I think I’ve found my place.”

“I would like that,” I answered. “I would like that very much.” 

* * *

After several days, we ran into thick patches of mud on the road and as Beth had predicted, I had to lift one of the wagons that had become thoroughly mired. The horses did not like stepping in the mud, and hated the “squelch” sound it made as they pulled their legs free. They had an instinctual fear that mud could break their vulnerable ankles, in which case they would die, and I did not blame them for their anxiety.

The slow pace of the oxen had frustrated me, but now they proved their value. Lyra and Jory hitched them to the wagons that became stuck, and I lifted the axles to bring their wheels clear of the mud while the oxen pulled forward. Sometimes they refused to pull forward, and we gave them treats of fruits and vegetables to lure them. They were immensely stupid, only slightly more intelligent than trees, and I could do little to convince them to aid us.

The hard work tired me, and my sisters could offer only slight assistance. Only I had the strength to lift a mired wagon, usually only with the aid of a lever, and only I could communicate directly with the horses and ease their fears of the mud to prevent a deadly panic. Lyra took over Beth and Jory’s morning sword practice while Tansy worked on the knots in my shoulder muscles. I loved my sister.

When the mud became unendurable, Jory suggested that we attempt to build what she called a “corduroy road.” I took the axe and cut down medium-sized trees, which my sisters dragged to the muddy stretches of the road and laid side-by-side across it to form a wooden surface. Though painfully slow, this method kept the wagon wheels from sinking into the mud and I found it easier than lifting the heavy wagons.

Much of the road remained completely passable; it probably helped that no traffic at all had passed by to churn up the mud. On some days we only had to cut down trees to bridge a mire twice, but never less than that. The steady uphill slope made things more difficult, and I found myself lifting the wagons and cursing the oxen more than once.

Eventually we returned to the Last Hearth. I had felt no humans along the way, but I did sense wolves, eagles and other animals. Life was returning in the wake of the Others’ departure. We picked up five more horses to add to our string, all of whom had enjoyed their brief freedom but now missed the food and care offered by humans. Only one additional mule appeared; I had hoped to find enough to unload the wagons but mule-breeding seemed unusual in this part of Westeros, where the peasants lacked the wealth to obtain working animals and the nobility used horses for riding rather than for work.

Like other castles of Westeros, Last Hearth had attracted the makings of a small town outside its gates and Lyra suggested we stay in an abandoned inn rather than enter the castle. Even though I knew that the road conditions would only worsen as the days went by and more snow and ice melted, both the horses and I needed additional rest and my sisters wished for it as well. I dreaded the journey along the base of the Wall, where melting ice from that huge structure would multiply our muddy misery.

After communing with several of the horses and the least ornery of the mules, and testing loads on them, I determined that a mule could probably carry about twice as much weight as a horse. A mule could take half the load of one of the chests, a horse the load of one-quarter. We would need close to 250 pack horses or half that many mules to do away with the wagons; it simply would not be possible to gather that many animals and I did not know that we could find forage for them. We would continue the slow process of dragging our wagon train along.

My sisters - I counted Beth Cassel among them, even if she did not - appeared to enjoy the rest, though they noticeably stayed away from the castle of Last Hearth and its strangely exploded gates. Tansy had immediately identified the inn as a brothel, but we saw no evidence of either workers or customers nor of any struggle with the not-dead. Lyra guessed that the inhabitants had fled inside the castle and died there. Whatever their fate, the beds they had left behind were exceedingly comfortable, the mattresses filled with the feathers of birds called geese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, a hedge knight has his last dance.


	59. Chapter Seventeen (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter has a religious experience.

Chapter Seventeen (John Carter)

I had kept the delegation from Dorne waiting long enough. Before giving them an audience, I had Varys give me a quick briefing on their kingdom. The Dornish enjoyed near-independence, and held a powerful grudge against the Lannister family arising from the last rebellion. They were held to be stout fighters, and could raise perhaps 40,000 troops in time of war.

Their delegation consisted of the eldest daughter of their ruling prince, accompanied and guarded by three other women. She was short and olive-skinned, with dark hair falling down her back in ringlets. Her sheer silken garment revealed a full though low-hanging bosom, with very large dark nipples. She moved with the grace of a cat, a predator, and I wanted her.

She approached the throne where I sat, with Daenerys seated alongside me, and knelt on both knees, bending forward to both show submission and display her bosom.

“My lord,” she said, in a throaty voice that sparked an electric reaction in my veins. I felt my manhood stirring. “I am Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne, eldest child and heir to Prince Doran Martell.”

“John Carter,” I said, standing. “I haven’t settled on a title as yet, but my Dothraki know me as Khal of khals, the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Welcome, Princess Arianne.”

Daenerys rose and stood by my side.

“You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn,” Missandei said. “First of her name. The Unburnt. Breaker of Chains. Mother of Dragons. Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. Queen of Meereen. Queen of Qarth. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“My queen,” Arianne bowed even lower. Her thoughts showed confusion; she did not know which of us she desired more. Once I had found such ideas repulsive. Now I became aroused at the thought of watching them together.

“Please, rise,” I said. “And introduce your companions.”

“The daughters of my late uncle, Prince Oberyn Martell. Tyene Sand, Obara Sand and Nymeria Sand. Known collectively as the Sand Snakes.”

“Ladies,” I bowed my head, “Welcome to Meereen. You are not Martells?”

“We’re bastards,” said the lovely blonde woman who’d been introduced as Tyene. “Each with a different mother. There’s no stigma in Dorne.”

Even as she said this, her thoughts betrayed her lie. A bastard was held in higher regard than elsewhere in Westeros, but was by no means the equal of a true-born child. As I desired Arianne Martell, I decided to be gracious.

“I never knew my own father,” I said. “For all I know, I could be a bastard as well. In the new kingdom we’ll found, it’s my desire that birth have no meaning, only ability. You all appear very able.”

“That we are,” she said. “We came as bodyguards to our cousin, as well as companions.”

“I hope you’ll trust my princess and I to dine privately with your princess.”

“If we didn’t trust you,” she said, “then we came a very long way to no purpose.”

“My lord,” Arianne said. “My khal. I’ve brought a gift.”

She gestured and one of the Hyrkoon guards brought forward what was obviously a sword wrapped in a soft purple cloth. The warrior woman brought it to me, and I carefully unwrapped it and pulled it slightly out of its black, ornate sheath. A Valyrian steel blade, somewhat smaller than Steel Flame, it appeared to have been crafted for a woman’s hand but would serve me well as a short sword in combination with my heavier blade.

“Dark Sister,” Arianne said. “The legendary sword of Visenya Targaryen, and later of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.”

“You honor me,” I said. “This is a gift beyond price, and I thank you for it.”

* * *

After lunch in our rooftop garden, Arianne Martell laid out the purpose of her visit.

“It seems I’ve arrived in a changed world,” the princess said, artfully touching her tongue to the rim of her goblet as she sipped her wine. “My father had betrothed me to Prince Viserys, to seal the loyalty of Dorne to the Targaryen dynasty. And now the Last Dragon is dead. What shall I do?”

She knew that Targaryens had wed multiple wives, as did many Dothraki khals, and hoped one of us would recognize her hint. She could not decide which of us she desired more, myself or my wife.

“You act in your father’s name?” I asked. “You can pledge the loyalty of Dorne to Viserys’ successor?”

She had such discretion, but she wanted a leading role for herself. She shifted her shoulders so that her breasts moved under her filmy garment, and was gratified to see my eyes follow.

“I do,” she said. “And I can. What is your desire?”

I desired to see Arianne Martell nude and willing in my bed. Beyond that, the coming campaign would be far more likely to succeed with the assistance of Dorne. According to Varys the Dornish were salty warriors who had suffered few losses in the recent wars.

“And what are your terms for an alliance?”

“A marriage pact,” she said. “Once sealed, I’m yours as is Dorne.”

“The Stallion already has a wife,” Daenerys said, not unkindly. I imagined the two of them kissing and fondling one another. “Is that not a difficulty?”

“That is for John Carter to say.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” I said, knowing that I was not, “a Targaryen ruler is allowed multiple wives. As is a Dothraki khal.”

“That’s true,” Princess Arianne said. “But I’ll not enter a marriage over the Princess Daenerys’ objections.”

“Yet another woman?” Daenerys spat at me as her anger rose. “I’ve done all you asked. I’ve learned, and I’ve done, everything Doreah showed me. Showed us.”

“Who is this Doreah?” Arianne asked in a deeper tone, working to divert my princess’ wrath.

“The blonde handmaid you met earlier,” I said.

“She’s beautiful,” Arianne said. “And you shared your husband with her, princess?”

“Yes,” Daenerys said. “It was my chieftain’s desire. He has a great many desires.”

“But did you enjoy it?”

“I . . . I did.”

“I can assure you,” Arianne said, “that you’ll enjoy me more. Women of Dorne know more ways of pleasure than any Lysene whore. And you should not be sharing with a slave. Either of you.”

“My husband has multiple concubines,” Daenerys said. “His needs, like his abilities, are far greater than those of other men.”

“He’ll not need them,” Arianne said, “with wives such as you and I.”

I settled back into the cushions and drank deeply of my own wine. It was quite good, this dark red wine that Princess Arianne had brought with her. And I considered her offer. I did desire Arianne Martell. And her country’s wine. And her father’s armies.

“And what is your desire,” I finally asked aloud, “Arianne Martell?”

“To be queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” she said. “And more than a figurehead. I wish to rule alongside my husband. And my wife.”

“You wish to be more than a second wife.”

“I wish to give myself freely to my sister-wife, and for her to do the same.”

“I must give myself in marriage to a woman,” Daenerys asked, “to gain the armies of Dorne, and thereby my rightful throne? And share said throne and my husband?”

“Yes,” Arianne said, gesturing at her own body. “Is that such a terrible thing?”

“No,” Daenerys allowed, “it is not.”

* * *

I considered Arianne Martell’s proposal, as I considered her. She had told the truth about her ambitions, and as Tyene had said she did seem to be very capable. A second queen who could be trusted to rule in my name in my absence, as Daenerys could not, could be very useful. As could the 40,000 spears sworn to her father.

Lizhi seemed less enthusiastic. I walked the rooftop gardens alone with her and Ornela. They had also adopted the Qartheen dress of my court’s women; it should have looked ridiculous on the rotund Lizhi but somehow it accentuated her dignity.

“You have known this woman a single day,” she said. “And you wish to name her khaleesi? All you truly know of her is that she has large tits. Take her as you do the golden Lynesse if you must have her. Marry Rastifa the Beautiful if you must have another wife, and honor the Hyrkoon who have fought and died in your name. They have still nicer tits and their desires are known. But do not rush into this. It is unwise.”

“It is known,” Ornela agreed. “You say you will change the rule by families. And then you marry into one, confirming their rule.”

And there she fingered a major difficulty. If I married Arianne, I also agreed to leave Dorne with its current political system even as I installed centralized rule in the other six kingdoms to match that of my Essosi conquests. That would only undermine the new order I planned to impose; Dorne would have to follow the same law code as every other land under my rule. No longer could unearned privilege be allowed to stand.

“As a symbol,” Lizhi said, “a queen of their people would be useful. But her father must have no special place. All lands of the west must kneel before the Stallion Who Mounts the World, and all must do so in the same manner.”

“All know of your desire for women,” Ornela said, touching the dusky breast bared by her Qartheen tunic. I tried not to notice that my advisor also possessed a very fine, firm bosom. “And that is good. The Stallion Who Mounts the World must be virile. We do not say that you should not take this woman. Only that you must not grant her father ruling status.”

I considered her point. Without a doubt, she was correct. Yet why should Dorne offer me its princess, only to gain what the other six kingdoms received by way of conquest?

“Perhaps you should not consider her family,” Lizhi said, as though she were the thought-reader and not I. “Arianne Martell is a woman of great ambition. Tell her that she must deliver her father’s spears so that she may become queen, a ruling queen by your side, yet with no special status for her family’s lands. They can earn their place like any other.”

“Do not be ruled by your desire, John Carter,” Ornela added. “Many men, of many lands, have betrayed themselves in this manner.”

* * *

“I’ve seen you in the flames, John Carter,” the so-called fire-witch began. Her name was Kinvara, and we met alone in my private study in my apartments atop the Great Pyramid. “You were brought here by the Lord of Light, one of two champions who will contest the world’s future.”

She believed what she said, though with an intensity to her thoughts that often indicated madness or at least fanaticism. She declared herself high priestess of her faith, though she seemed young for such a post. She was lovely and dark-haired, with a full bosom proudly displayed by her dark red dress cut in the Qartheen fashion.

“You want me,” she said, “and you shall have me, after I’ve delivered my message. For now, take your attention from my breast and heed my words instead.”

I knew her faith to have many followers across Essos, which meant that I could not simply dismiss her as a lunatic.

“Very well,” I said. “What have you come to tell me?”

“What do you know of our faith?”

“You worship a fire-god,” I said. “One locked in eternal struggle with an ice god.”

“Simplistic, but not totally wrong,” she said. “Rh’llor loves mankind, and has a plan for mankind, including defending us from the Great Other. He shows certain of the priesthood parts of the future, or possible futures, to guide us. And so I saw you in the flames.”

“As the Stallion Who Mounts the World.”

“Yes,” she said. “You must unite the world to stand against the Great Other. And your marriage to the princess is the key to it all.”

“My princess?”

“Yes,” she repeated. “I’ve also seen another future, one without you. One in which your unstable princess causes chaos here in Slaver’s Bay, leading to a million or more needless deaths through disease and civil war. You know this to be true.”

“I do,” I agreed, though one did not need a connection to some fire god to see how deeply foolish my wife had been in her heedless freeing of slaves with no provision for their future.

“It would only have become worse as her dragons grew and she gained greater power. I saw her slaughter hundreds of thousands more in Westeros, this time directly with her black dragon. She is necessary to save the world, by returning dragons to it, but she cannot be allowed to follow her own will. You know this in your heart.”

“I do,” I agreed again. At times I trembled at the thought of what Daenerys might do were she to actually wield authority. “What is it that you advise?”

“Secure your power,” she said. “You’ve dismissed the power of belief. Not simply your own long-abandoned faith in a single nameless god, but the power that belief holds among the people, even those who follow false gods. The khaleen have kept the Dothraki docile, and your Hyrkoon believe you a god yourself and therefore see nothing odd in your failure to worship any other.”

“Neither of which,” I completed the thought, “applies to sophisticated city dwellers.”

“You are insightful,” she said, “though it is simple to appear so when one reads thoughts, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve come to help you, John Carter. Rh’llor brought you to this world, as he did your wife. It’s your destiny to unite the peoples of Essos and Westeros, and prepare them for what is coming.”

“My wife?”

“Dejah Thoris will slay the harbinger of doom, but it’s your role to stop the doom itself.”

“Who is this Dejah Thoris?” The name seemed eerily familiar, as if I should know it.

“She was once your wife,” Kinvara said, smiling. “And your princess. In the lifetime you’ve not yet remembered.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said. “Daenerys is my wife. The only princess I want or need.”

“That’s not even true in Meereen,” Kinvara laughed. “You may lie to yourself if you wish, it won’t alter your destiny.”

“Tell me why you’re here now,” I said. They very name Dejah Thoris made me uncomfortable, and I wished to discuss something else.

“To practice what I preach,” she smiled. “Across Essos, the red priests will tell the people of your destiny, and call on the faithful to submit to and support your rule. They’ll call for unity, and for your new order. No armies can give you what the Lord of Light can, John Carter.”

“I won’t adopt your religion.”

“You don’t have to believe to be an instrument of the Lord’s will.”

As she had promised, she gave herself to me on the broad reclining couch that the former occupants had left me. Her kiss, her touch were like fire on my skin, and when I entered her I thought the heat would consume me. In that moment I would gladly have pledged myself to her god, but she did not ask it of me.

* * *

While I pondered Kinvara’s prophecy and Arianne Martell’s offer, I continued to enjoy my afternoons with Lynesse and to work on other, less enjoyable priorities. To capture the Free Cities and then Westeros, we would need a more effective army than a horde of plains nomads backed by a small contingent of mercenaries. We had made great strides, and now I would use this operational pause to re-form the horde into an army.

To ease the burden on the region’s pastures I decided to release 75,000 Dothraki, and their dependents, to return to the Great Grass Sea. These would be mostly older men, assembled from across all of the khalasar, or those who had been wounded and were no longer fully capable but still able to ride. Ko Jommo would lead them.

I expanded my Dothraki Companions to 20,000 riders, organized into twenty regiments of 1,000 men each. Each man wore leather armor and carried a lance, bow and horse-arakh. Rakharo continued to lead them. Fresh drafts had arrived from the Hyrkoon cities and we now had 5,000 female warriors, who formed five regiments of their own. The Qartheen camel archers rounded out the Companions.

Between the fresh recruits who still poured into our camps and the mercenaries I did not wish to release, we had close to 120,000 men beyond the Dothraki and Hyrkoon - far more than I had expected to enroll. Lodovico’s nephew Giacomo now commanded 10,000 armored heavy cavalry. Among the former mercenaries I had found a woman named Meris, known as Pretty Meris, with a talent for military engineering and siegecraft. She had lately been employed as a torturer, but I had Ko Ogo filling that role now. Meris knew of torture first-hand, having lost her ears at some point in the past and had her nose slit. She was a supremely unattractive woman, with old scars that appeared to be the marks of human teeth on her face, but worked twice as hard as any of the men serving me. I gave her another 10,000 men to form a pioneer corps; most of these were former slaves with experience in construction work.

That left 100,000 infantrymen, organized into combined pike-crossbow regiments of two thousand men each, each in turn broken into ten companies of 200 men. Five regiments formed a division. The foot soldiers were a mix of pikemen and crossbowmen, and all underwent training with sword and shield as well.

I planned to station at least two regiments in each of our four cities, and others would garrison the new lines of signal towers linking them. The field army would have about 50,000 foot soldiers; more than that could not be supplied given the lack of steam-powered railroads in this world, and was about the most that could be deployed from the march within a few hours.

The three slave cities had an abundance of skilled craftsmen, now needing employment, and I put a team of them to work inside the Great Pyramid. I had taught the Hyrkoon to make gunpowder, and now we would employ it in firearms. The skills simply did not exist to make tens of thousands of muskets to arm my infantry, but we could make small numbers of simple weapons. I hoped to equip a small elite contingent within the Companions; the shock of gunpowder weapons would have an even greater impact than their firepower.

The Great Pyramid included stables meant for elephants, but I learned that Meereen had not fielded an elephant corps for many years. I recalled that horses feared elephants, which could make them useful in deterring enemy cavalry, but I decided not to expend too much effort in obtaining the beasts.

Green Flea had started a promising training program, and I had given him some of the more capable former mercenaries to assist. Many among the so-called “sellswords” proved to have had very little actual training, and often had been simply recruited off city streets and flung into action. I found a number of capable junior officers in the ranks of the mercenary companies, but their senior leadership proved uniformly poor and untrustworthy. Meris gave sound assessments of most, which I confirmed with my telepathy, and I had several of their captains executed on admittedly false charges including her own former commander, a Pentoshi known as the Tattered Prince.

The regiments would be commanded by men who had been with us since the march across the Great Grass Sea, who had proven themselves in battle and shown their loyalty to me. Meris warned me that not all mercenary companies were of as poor quality as those we had absorbed into our ranks; she believed a large outfit known as the Golden Company to be particularly formidable. They supposedly did have elephants under their command.

A great many of the mercenaries were simply too dangerous to release; they would turn to crime and revolution and I considered it best to keep them under firm control. I knew that the Unsullied would brook no resistance to their commands, and I reiterated to Green Flea his authority to command death for severe disobedience.

My growing army would have to be fed and paid, and that meant bringing the farmland east of the cities into full production. Slave-powered plantations had produced mostly grain and other foodstuffs, to feed the masses of slaves trained and held in and around Meereen. This made sense, as slaves were the region’s cash crop.

Pono called my attention to a special kind of plantation in the hinterlands. These housed hundreds of young women, who would be impregnated by male slaves selected for size and strength to produce slave children, who would then be torn from their mothers and sold to other slavers to be raised and trained in some specialty. Often the owner or his overseers would perform the impregnation themselves. A few even charged outsiders for the privilege, turning it into another profit center.

“That’s rape,” Daenerys said, overhearing Pono’s description. “Mass rape for profit. Those slavers and their overseers must ride poles, my chieftain.”

I was not opposed to her demand, though I recalled that many Virginia slaveowners had done essentially the same thing, if on a less organized basis. It meant that they had sold their own children, though in their case the children had been black-skinned and therefore not truly of their descent. These “breeders,” as the Meereenese called them, were mostly Ghiscari in origin, a dusky race that appeared outwardly similar to the Arab peoples I recalled from my former life. That made them of the same race as their masters, a situation that still perplexed me.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion Lannister spoke up. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be so hasty. The slaveowners could be valuable allies.”

“Lord Tyrion,” I said, “you’ve only recently arrived. Hundreds of members of the leading slave-holding families have been put to death on my order, for crimes including rebellion and murder. These families have yet to forgive.”

“Impalement simply seems . . . excessive.”

“Honored One?” I asked Ornela, who was also present in my rooftop garden.

“Let it be as the khaleesi says,” she ruled. “A slave is made by war. To make one by rape is unclean. Let these perverted masters ride poles.”

She recalled her own early life, ripped from her Lhazarene family by a passing Dothraki khal who forced her into marriage as a child. She spoke more from her anger than from her understanding of Dothraki law and culture. But I saw no harm in indulging her desires, as I had those of Orange Cat and Belwas.

‘Very well,” I said. “Ko Pono, please arrest these masters and overseers when you encounter them, and hand them to Ko Ogo for punishment. Keep the women and any children together and send them to Skahaz for re-settlement. There will be no compensation paid.”

“As you say, my khal,” he said, then looked at me more closely, detecting my hesitancy. “The Honored One is correct. It is okay.”

* * *

The land here was not as lush as that feeding Pentos or Myr, but still appeared to have greater potential than had been realized under the old regime. I had Shakaz form teams of surveyors to mark off solid farms of approximately 50 acres, sometimes larger if the land were of lower quality or with less access to water. The yeoman farmer had been the backbone of the Southern Confederacy and prior to that of the United States, before its promise of freedom was perverted by bankers and abolitionists.

Bankers. I hated them as a class, and did not wish their presence in my realm. They lived off the sweat of honest men, taking obscene profits simply by shuffling numbers on their ledger sheets and calling it “earned.” Yet farmers needed capital, the hard coin that would pay for seed, for draft animals, and for seasonal labor now that slavery had been ended.

For the moment, my ill-organized government sat on a great deal of money and other valuables. I pondered establishing a royal bank, with a monopoly over lending and a charter to seek no profit, but to bolster the efforts of small farmers and independent businessmen. Yet I lacked the knowledge to do so, and did not trust those who had these skills. Illyrio surely knew of such people, and likely had them already in his employ. But it would take months for a summons to reach my friend in Pentos, and months more for these experts to reach me in Meereen.

With Skahaz only suggesting cronies who would line their pockets and his, I named a man named Grazdan zo Galare to found the new Royal Bank of Meereen. He was a cousin to the priestess known as the Green Grace, and had been a major slaveholder. Grazdan had cashed out his slave holdings very early, and invested the proceeds in weaving businesses staffed by former slaves. He firmly believed that he should have had some compensation for the skills he had taught his slaves, but after seeing many of his associates dangling from poles in the central plaza, he kept his thoughts to himself. Unknown to him, they of course were not kept to himself.

I summoned Grazdan to my rooftop garden; unbidden, his cousin came as well. He was a fleshy man of middle age, with a sharp mind for figures and a perpetual sense of aggrievement. Unlike most of his class he wore a simple tunic, white with bright stripes, over trousers; most of the Great Masters had worn a toga-like garb known as a tokar that required one to hold it in place with one hand; this emphasized the wearer’s privilege as he or she had slaves to handle objects and even feed them. I had noted, with approval, that tokars had become rather rare ever since so many of their wearers had been jammed onto poles in the central plaza.

Having escaped such punishment, Grazdan apparently believed himself immune. Immediately after greeting me, he made to voice his unhappiness that slaves he had trained now made profit from what he saw as his investment.

“Citizen Grazdan,” I cut him off. “I’m giving you a chance to be part of the new order. If you’d prefer to join the other Great Masters, I’m sure we can find an unoccupied pole for you.”

“My cousin spoke in haste,” the Green Grace answered for him. “I’m sure he appreciates the opportunity you present him and his family.”

“The Graces support my rule?” I asked, somewhat surprised. “I would have thought you objected to the harsh justice given the Sons of the Harpy.”

“They were guilty,” she said, “were they not? The gods demand justice. And sometimes it must be harsh.”

She would not see her own faith less favored than that of Kinvara. She suspected that I had taken the fire witch as my lover, and did not believe that at her advanced age she could offer the same. Therefore she thought to offer her ready backing for my reign.

“Yet a gesture,” she continued, “might help cement the loyalty of believers.”

“The fighting pits,” I pulled from her mind. She did not seem surprised that I sussed out her intent.

“Yes,” she said. “The people love the spectacle, one intertwined with their faith.”

“My princess desires an end to the practice.”

“She does not understand the will of the gods,” Galazza Galare said, “nor does she grasp the attachment the people have for their traditions.”

“I’ll consider it,” I said. “For the moment, I have business with your cousin.”

The Green Grace nodded, believing she had lost her point and fearing that I would blame her for any resulting unrest. While I still leaned against re-opening the pits, I could see her fears to be genuine. I would, therefore, have to make my re-consideration equally genuine. I turned to her relation.

“Citizen Grazdan,” I enjoyed the double meaning of his name, though he had no clue why this might amuse me. “It’s my wish that you revive the Bank of Meereen to serve my ends. I want it to lend capital to small farmers and small business, to cause them to prosper.”

“That’s fairly simple,” he said, taking the offered seat and warming to the task at his cousin’s silent urging. “But not if you wish the bank to make a profit. There’s no profit lending to the middling, and I’m not merely speaking from a preference for my own class. They barely know what to do with money or how to manage it. They spend it on magic beans and geese they’re told will lay golden eggs. Those who already have money, they know what to do with it. Provided they are not criminals, they are far more likely to repay the loan profitably.”

I sat as well, poured myself wine, and slid the carafe across the table to him. He did the same.

“I want the former slaves to have a living,” I said, “to bring stability and order.”

“I understand,” the fat man said. “And it’s a noble goal. Truly, it is. Yet they know nothing. They’ve never had to handle their own affairs. They need their masters to guide them. Surely you are not so naïve as to doubt this.”

And I was not. I had long believed slavery to be divinely ordained, part of the natural order of things, and so mankind had been separated into different races. The white race had the wisdom to guide the lesser races; this was its privilege, and its burden. But here I found the races intermingled, with the dark-skinned and the white-skinned both masters and slaves. In pure physical terms, my slave Doreah would be a stunning lady of any Virginia plantation. Yet she was a debased harlot in no way suited to stand among the ruling class.

“I don’t disagree with you,” I said. “Yet the die has been cast.”

“‘The die has been cast?’”

“An expression. It means that events are in motion than can’t be taken back.”

I knew that the Pentoshi played dice games, but if they were known in Meereen then Grazdan had never indulged himself.

“Would that it were not so,” Grazdan said. “But since it is, it is up to us to lessen the damage as best we can.”

“Us. So you’ve accepted the post.”

“I suppose that I have,” he sighed. “I imagine it would be best to offer goods - seeds, animals or whatever else - rather than money they’ll only drink or gamble away. Might I have a short time to prepare proposals and hire staff?”

“You may. Skahaz will give you a budget for assistants, and a salary for yourself. Please me and you’ll prosper as he has.”

He understood the price of failure, so I did not mention it aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next chapter, John Carter chats with Pretty Meris.
> 
> Note: In the books, Daenerys kills more people in Slaver's Bay through her raging incompetence than she does in the show through dragon-strafing her new capital.


	60. Chapter Forty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris resolves an argument.

Chapter Forty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

Rain began to fall a few hours after our arrival; a miserable slow, steady and cold rain. I had been fascinated by rain when I first encountered water falling from the sky and stood under it, allowing the water to soak me while I laughed as though I were insane. The phenomenon now lacked novelty for me, and I wished nothing more than to remain in this abandoned whorehouse until the rain ceased and the road dried at least slightly.

Though far less well-appointed than Chataya’s brothel in King’s Landing, Last Hearth’s nameless house of prostitution also included a small bath-house. Three stone-lined tubs each had its own dedicated fireplace to keep the bath water warm. A large water tank stood just behind the bath-house, and had been filled shortly before this town met its doom. Someone had also filled the firewood racks with seasoned logs and kindling. After such a long time on the road, I enjoyed soaking in the warm water.

Jory and Beth entered, silently, and each proceeded to fill one of the other tubs and stoke a fire underneath it, using burning pieces of wood from the fire I had built under my own.

“Could you add some more wood?” I asked Beth, who nodded without speaking and shoved a few more small pieces into the blaze underneath me.

I closed my eyes again, but their silence disturbed my peaceful relaxation. I peeked into their thoughts. They had become irritated with one another for reasons I did not understand. Tansy would know what to say; a telepathic scan found her with Lyra preparing a deer Lyra had shot with an arrow. As they worked they compared the skills of their favorite male lovers; as usual I could not read any detail in Tansy’s thoughts, but my older sisters seemed to be enjoying themselves. I did not wish to interrupt them, nor did I wish to give up my comfortable bath.

My younger sisters had ruined my tranquility. If I wished this problem solved, I would have to address it on my own. I wracked my brain for a useful approach, and finally resorted to my usual method: I blurted out the first thought in my mind.

“Why are you two angry?”

“She . . .” Beth began, then paused. “She annoyed me.”

“She annoyed _me_ ,” Jory countered.

“And over what did you argue?”

“I don’t even remember,” Beth said. “She was just being a bitch.”

“I have killed people for using that word,” I said. “Do not apply it to your sister.”

“She’s my cousin, not my sister.”

“And,” I said, “worthy of your respect.”

“Not when she acts like a spoiled brat.”

“You started it,” Jory said. “All I wanted to do was wear your extra leggings while mine were drying.”

Their baths almost ready, both of them pulled off their clothing – a simple brown dress for Jory, Night’s Watch black leggings and tunic for Beth.

“You didn’t need them,” Beth said. “You had that dress, or you could have gone naked. We’re all women here.”

I often thought of Jory as a child, but she clearly had a woman’s body. She was only slightly shorter than Beth, though with a more slender frame but larger breasts. At 17 years, she was an adult by this world’s standards and was actually past the usual age for marriage for a woman of her social class.

“It’s not about needing,” Jory said, “it’s about sharing.”

“Stop,” I said, as gently as I could; with what my sisters considered my flat intonation it came across more harshly than I intended.

“You’re taking her side?” Beth asked.

“There are no sides,” I answered. “Tell me the real problem.”

“She’s the real problem.”

“That is not a useful answer.”

“At least now she knows you’re not reading her thoughts,” Jory added, not very helpfully.

“Do not force me to summon Tansy,” I finally said. “Sit by the bath and tell me what truly troubles you.”

They placed their folded towels on the wide, stone edge of my bath and sat as I directed. Beth looked at me, glanced down at my naked form under the water, and finally spoke.

“You’re not made the same way we are.”

“No,” I said. “I believe our . . . varieties of human are closely related. But there are some very great differences. My blood is blue as you’ve observed, and my internal organs are arranged differently.”

“And your woman’s parts?”

Jory blushed, but Beth had asked the question very seriously.

“I do not mind answering,” I said, “but I do not wish to embarrass you.”

“Go ahead,” Beth said. “I asked. I can take it.”

“My outer form is similar enough to yours that people here feel sexual attraction for me, as you know, and I for some of them. But I am not the same as you. I do not have a sex receptacle like yours,” I briefly touched myself between my legs, “and my breasts do not provide sustenance.”

“No milk?”

“I do not believe so. I have studied the breasts of this world closely and they appear so similar to ours that I wonder if the breasts of our women might do so with proper stimulus.”

“Please don’t daydream,” Beth said, smiling for the first time. “I’m serious.”

“My organs for sex and reproduction are very different than yours, if that is your question.”

“It is,” she said, paused, and continued. “You have no moon blood.”

“Tansy has told me of this. I do not.”

“What did she tell you?”

“That you bleed once every moon cycle, if you are healthy and not carrying a child. It expels the unused egg.”

Jory squirmed slightly, but remained silent.

“I never knew that part,” Beth said. “It makes sense. Did she tell you anything else?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Well,” Beth said, “for some women, sometimes, you get very emotional just before your moon blood flows. It’s not very obvious, at least not to me it isn’t. It seems like other people just make you angry but you feel like nothing’s changed and you’re in the right.”

Hormones. Women released hormones to prepare themselves to bear a child. I wished that I had brought a data pad to this planet so that I might record this information.

“You,” I said, “would be one of those women.”

“Sometimes. Not always.”

“So you are not actually angry with Jory.”

“She’s annoying, but I over-reacted. I’m sorry.”

She began to shed tears.

“It’s not worth crying over,” she said. “Damn it.”

They stood and hugged one another, then climbed into their bath. I enjoyed watching them touch more than was proper. I suspected they remained irritated with one another and had pretended to reconcile for my benefit, but refrained from checking their thoughts to be sure.

I had called on neither Tansy nor telepathy. Feeling quite proud of myself, I slid back down into the bath, leaving only my eyes and nose above the surface of the warm water. 

* * *

We resumed our exercises and sword practice the next morning; though I remained troubled by Beth’s attitude, I could find no fault in her progress. When she completed her training and I gave her the Valyrian sword known as Lady Forlorn – if I did so – she would be a most formidable swordswoman.

The daily training had benefitted Lyra as well; she had become both quicker and stronger just in the time since we had begun working together at Greywater Watch. I continued to work with both Beth and Jory on basics, but now I rooted through the armory of Last Hearth and found four very well-made wooden practice swords. I preferred these to the blunt-edged steel swords that many here used in training.

I searched but could find nothing similar to the arm weights used on Barsoom for sword training. Many swordmasters believe that working with these attached to the forearms helps build strength. I asked Lyra and Beth about them; neither had ever heard of nor seen such an item in use. Both of my sisters could benefit from additional arm and shoulder strength.

Beth had killed men in battle, but had been very fortunate to have only faced those who had little chance of defending themselves. I now worked to correct the flaws in her approach, and started working with both Beth and Lyra on the triple style of small-group combat. I had practiced, and fought, with Lyra in the paired style, and we had done well. But the paired style, in which I had fought alongside my sister Thuvia on Barsoom, works best when both fighters are of near-equal ability. This was not the case with Lyra and I. But in the triple style, two fighters can effectively support a third of much greater skill, multiplying her effectiveness by guarding both of her flanks. 

* * *

As I had feared, the road northward from Last Hearth only became more difficult with each passing day, as the ground absorbed more and more melted ice and snow. The weather remained clear, so at least no additional rain added to our misery. My misery, if truth be told; though my sisters tried very hard to share the burden only I could perform the needed heavy lifting to keep our wagons from becoming hopelessly mired. I hated the oxen when they were not pulling the wagons, and loved them when they dragged our gold out of the mire.

Not long after we turned north onto the Kingsroad, I picked up the mental signature of a single human approaching from the south, as well as a horse. As the rider drew closer, I drew from his thoughts that he was a man, seeking money or other valuables from the abandoned homes and castles of the North. He had intended to head for Last Hearth, but had seen the unmistakably fresh ruts left by our wagons and instead followed us up the Kingsroad.

He easily overtook us, and as he approached I wondered if I should simply kill him out of hand once he drew close enough. I rode at the back end of the wagon train alongside Beth, with my other sisters at the front end.

“A rider is coming,” I said. “One man, seeking loot.”

“Let’s go kill him,” Beth answered the question I had not asked.

“He has done nothing to threaten us.”

“Out here in the middle of nowhere, every man is a threat to women.”

I hesitated.

“Tell the others to stay here,” Beth urged. “You and I can take care of him. They don’t need to know any more.”

I rode to the front of the column, a very short distance.

“There is a rider approaching,” I said, “coming up the road from the south. Beth and I will investigate, and turn him away before he comes within sight of the wagons.”

My sisters nodded. I rode back, and signaled to Beth to join me. We stopped briefly at the wagon bearing our ringed armor to pull on our padded tunics, armor and Mormont surcoats. While I still preferred to remain nude, even in battle, I had finally accepted that ringed armor would turn away most arrows.

The man pulled up his horse when we approached. He appeared very young, with greasy yellow hair. He wore the leather armor some Northern fighters seemed to prefer but no house colors, and I assumed he was what was known as a “hedge knight,” the equivalent here of the lord-less pathans of Barsoom. The sight of two armed women surprised him, and then he recognized me from a description he had heard.

“A red-skinned beauty with a sword,” he said, bowing in his saddle. “You’d be the princess what slew the Ryswells.”

“Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, daughter of House Mormont,” I said. “My adoptive sister Beth Cassel, also of House Mormont.”

For once, she did not argue; I felt rage building within her. She spoke harshly before the man could answer my introduction.

“I know you,” she spat. “One of the Bastard’s Boys.”

“Ser Damon,” he said. “A freerider, formerly of service to Lord Bolton.”

“Of service to Ramsay Snow. You stood by and watched.”

“I never laid a hand on you,” he gazed at her, imagining her unclothed. “I’d remember you.”

His fantasy of Beth included her scars, still fresh in his memory. They could not be seen under her tight-fitting Night’s Watch tunic. He had seen her naked, and he remembered.

“Doesn’t matter,” Beth snarled. “I’m going to kill you all the same.”

“That seems harsh,” he answered, not taking her seriously. “We only just met.”

I decided to intervene.

“You must choose,” I said. “Turn and ride away, and you will not be harmed. Remain and I will allow my sister to harm you.”

“Such hostility,” he shook his head, hoping we found him charming. “Whatever hurt you think I caused you, I do most sincerely apologize.”

“Turn and ride away,” I repeated. “Do it now.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “A lovely day, a lovely road, such lovely ladies. Why should I give up such loveliness?”

“I killed Ramsay Snow and punted his head. My sister and I killed all four of Ramsay’s Bitches, and their dogs.”

“Everyone meets their end sometime.” He did not believe me.

He wished to have sex with us, both at once. I walked my mare close to his horse, circling to match his direction. Beth did the same on his opposite side. Still he did not see us as a threat; perhaps he was not capable of perceiving a woman in such a light. He believed we instead displayed sexual interest in him. At this distance I could easily punch him or grab his arms or throat should be become hostile. Even a man as stupid as this Ser Damon should never have allowed two armed strangers to flank him in this manner.

“Have you raped women?” I asked.

“What sort of question is that? Of course not.”

He had.

“Have you murdered the innocent?”

“Me? Never. I protect the innocent.”

“You are a cowardly fighter,” I said, drawing on his thoughts. “But you have killed women and even children.”

“Only on Lord Ramsay’s order. It’s not a crime if you’re only following orders.”

I looked across to Beth, who indicated in her thoughts that she only awaited my own order.

“Kill him.”

Swiftly, she drew the dagger he kept at his waist and plunged it into the unarmored area under his left arm. She twisted the blade. His eyes bulged and he gasped before he slumped silently forward in his saddle and voided his waste.

I checked his rapidly-dying body for money; he had a small sack of silver and copper coins which I kept. I pulled out his sword; it was a cheaply-made blade and even had it been fine steel I could not have explained its origin to our sisters. Instead of keeping it I rammed it into the dying knight’s chest to make sure he expired. Ser Damon looked at me and tried to speak; he hoped to name us “bitches” before he died so as my sister had done, I twisted the blade. He had another dagger on his right leg; I drew it and cut his saddle and tack free of his horse. He fell into a muddy rut in the road.

“Leave him,” I said.

“I wasn’t planning to bury him.”

I told his horse to head away to the south; I did not wish to explain to our sisters why we returned with a horse but no rider. We walked our own horses north along the road.

“He harmed you?” I asked.

“Not directly,” she said. “Like I said, he watched and laughed.”

“You did well.”

“You taught me well.”

I wondered if I had simply taught her to murder.

“We will tell Lyra when there is an opportunity, but we will not speak of this in front of Tansy or Jory.”

“Agreed.”

We rode silently for a few moments, and a thought crossed my mind. And then on its own it crossed my lips.

“Do you have a list?”

“A list?”

“Arya Stark had a list of those who had harmed her family and she wished dead. She recited it every night, when she thought no one heard.”

“Not to discount Arya’s pain,” Beth began slowly, “but it wasn’t the same thing. Those horrors happened to others, even those she witnessed, so I’m sure she thought about them. Imagined them.”

I nodded.

“I watched my father lose his head, just as she did. But the rest . . . I experienced those things, first-hand. I don’t have to imagine what happened, and I don’t want to re-live them. I try to block them out of my mind. So when I recognized Damon, or recognized those men as slavers back at the Dreadfort, the rage took over. But I wasn’t looking for them. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.”

“That said, I didn’t mind killing Damon. Thank you. And thank you for talking about it.”

“You may do so whenever you wish.”

“I know,” Beth said. “I talk about it with Tansy when the two of us are riding alone. It helps. I think she can do anything.”

“I think so too.” 

* * *

After several days we left the forest for the open grasslands Beth said were called “moors.” They had little actual grass; their cover consisted of small and very tough plants. They often had flowers, but the horses detested them and did not like to eat them. Without trees to form a corduroy road the task became even more difficult and our progress slowed. Fortunately I detected no more humans as we crawled toward Castle Black.

When we did finally reach a small copse of trees, I cut enough for a corduroy surface and afterwards loaded them aboard the wagons. The trees only lasted for two or three uses before they shattered, but it helped all the same.

Fifteen days after turning onto the Kingsroad, the surface suddenly became one covered by the small stones known as “gravel.” I marveled at this efficient maintenance, something I had not seen even in the areas around the capital city, King’s Landing.

“The Night’s Watch owned these lands,” Lyra explained as she inspected the wagons’ wheels and axles. I stood by to lift them if needed. “It’s known as ‘The Gift,’ after some king gave it to them as a gift.”

I started to have sarcastic thoughts about the name, but those quickly faded in the face of my joy at seeing the graveled road surface. I had not noticed this feature when we rode south.

“It looks empty,” I said, looking over the moors.

“It is empty,” Lyra answered. “I don’t know what this was supposed to accomplish, let them rent it out for sheep-raising I suppose, but whatever the purpose, it never happened. Still, they kept up their part of the Kingsroad so they could get supplies from Winterfell.”

“You know a great deal about the Watch.”

“Not really. My uncle was Lord Commander so growing up we couldn’t help but hear far more than we wished about the doings of the Night’s Watch.”

“We would have run out of food soon,” I said. “There are no farms here to loot.”

“Someone probably needs to ride ahead to Castle Black as it stands. That’s either you or me, and one of the others.”

“I will go with Tansy.”

I must have looked worried. Our encounter with Damon – he was no knight, according to Beth – troubled me. Where one lone marauder rode, others could as well, possibly in groups.

“We’ll be fine,” Lyra said. “We’re probably two days’ ride away each way. And we have the raven.”

“You would have to fight alone if attacked. Beth is not fully ready.”

Lyra had finished with the last wagon, and pulled herself out from underneath it.

“I can go with Tansy if you’d like, and you can guard the wagon train.”

I pondered this.

“You get uneasy leaving any of us, don’t you?” she asked.

She was correct.

“I do,” I admitted. “I have never had a family like this; our family dynamics at home are very different. I fear for all of you.”

I knew that all of them would die centuries before my last day finally came. That made every day very precious to me, and fed my anxiety.

“Dejah,” Lyra said, rising to her feet and placing her hand at the center of my chest, “we live in here, no matter what happens. And nothing will happen. I promise you.”

I moved her hand to the top of my left breast.

“My heart is over here, and you do live within it.”

She slapped me gently on the side of my face; I would have preferred that her hand slip lower onto my breast.

“You know we have to do this,” she said. “We need the food. And we’ll be apart many times over the years to come, and then come together again. Maybe something bad will happen; most likely it won’t. That’s the chance we take by living.”

“I am sorry. Sometimes my worries are excessive.”

“You actually have flaws. That’s a great relief to know.”

Tansy had used almost those exact words.

“I love you, Lyra.”

“I know. I love you, too. Let’s tell the others what’s happening.” 

* * *

Lyra rode out with Tansy a short while later, taking a pack horse. The raven went with them. Beth rode at the end of the wagon train in Lyra’s rear-guard position while Jory stayed with me at the front; Lyra had told her not to leave me alone with my thoughts. This was probably a wise precaution.

Jory proved a very cheerful companion, and when we stopped for meals or rest Beth also seemed relaxed and happy. I asked her why.

“We’re out of those dark and dreary woods,” she said. “I know you can actually feel their thoughts. The trees, I mean. Maybe we can pick up a little of that, too.”

We continued our exercises, and sword practice. Jory had become somewhat less hopeless; she certainly could have defeated Ser Davos but I would continue to find excuses to keep her out of actual battle.

Beth seemed to have reached the point my old swordmaster would have called “pieces dropping into place.” She had become far more confident wielding a blade, and with her marvelous natural speed I now began to think she was ready to fight actual opponents rather than confused sailors and foolish looters. She still lacked upper-body strength, but had taken to her exercises with a great deal of willpower and already showed well-defined muscles on her arms and shoulders.

Our wagons remained out of the mud thanks to the gravel, but the third wagon churned through the stones into the ground enough to cause me some concern. It never sank so deeply that I had to free it, but I was glad that we did not have a fourth wagon trailing it. Should this road ever be used again, anyone bringing a wagon along it in this weather would curse us.

I shared our food equally with Beth and Jory, who together usually ate less than I. By the time I picked up Lyra’s approaching thoughts I had grown very hungry. Excited, I rode out to meet them, leaving Beth to watch over Jory and the wagons since I would be within telepathic range at all times.

I leapt off my mare when I drew close, taking Tansy into my arms even before she as she pulled her foot loose from her stirrup and kissing her. I pressed her against her horse’s flank and she returned the kiss, though she quickly became embarrassed to have Lyra see my passion for her.

“I am sorry,” I said. “I was worried for you.”

“I can see that,” she said, but she smiled. “You’re going to give poor Lyra troubled dreams.”

“I am sorry,” I repeated. “I do not like to be separated from my sisters.”

“Everyone is well?” she asked.

“They are,” I said. “We are hungry, but unhurt.”

As soon as we reached the wagons, I ate several of the small loaves of bread Tansy had baked at Castle Black and brought with her, while she and Lyra prepared a larger meal in our roadside camp.

I did my best not to seem overly emotional once we were all together again, and was unsure why this separation had bothered me so. Perhaps it was the utter lack of any other human thoughts within my range that made the reduction in my companions’ number more noticeable. Or perhaps the lack of food had sharpened my ever-present anxiety. I certainly loved Jory and Beth no less than my older sisters, or at least I told myself this, and had I very much enjoyed their company. Whatever the reason, I felt much better with Tansy and Lyra present again.

The Wall retained its structural integrity as did the castle. My older sisters reported no signs of any humans at Castle Black, nor of traffic on the road leading there. I was relieved, but also shaken to consider again what could have happened to them had they encountered a group of men. We had been fortunate; more people would eventually venture into the empty regions in search of the abandoned wealth left behind by the dead.

We needed three more days to reach Castle Black, arriving in need of food and rest despite the supplies Tansy and Lyra had brought to us. The wagons remained sound, and the animals would be as well after a day’s rest. After a long sleep I wandered the castle with Tansy to see if we had missed anything in our looting, as I doubted we would ever return here.

I wanted to make sure that we had emptied the library, and I was pleased to see only empty shelves. We also checked the chambers of the Watch’s maester and found no books squirreled away there. I did find some copper tubing, which I knew could be useful and would be difficult to find on Bear Island. I loaded it on one of the wagons.

We returned to our borrowed chambers, where Jory sorted through the Lord Commander’s correspondence in search of some clue as to the state of the Night’s Watch in other castles along the Wall. I sat next to her at the Commander’s desk, though I could read nothing of their letters.

“My uncle made reports just like a military organization,” she explained to me. “There are daily listings of men fit for duty, supplies consumed, recruits or supplies received. Jon Snow seems to have handled things on the fly, trusting no one once this Samwell Tarly person left for training at the Citadel. That’s the last entry in their diary; he was probably the one keeping it up to date.”

“In my lands,” I said, “we would call that ‘dereliction of duty’.”

“They don’t go to war here with much organization,” Jory said. “Their lord screams ‘follow me,’ waves his sword and charges toward the enemy.”

“So we do not know which castles had garrisons?”

She shuffled through the papers, some of them full-sized pieces and others the tiny scraps tied to ravens’ legs.

“It looks – I can’t be sure – like Jon Snow wanted to send garrisons to all or almost all of the castles. But there’s no evidence of him sending shipments of food or other supplies, so I don’t know how he expected to keep them there. I haven’t seen any return messages from those castles he wanted manned, so that might not have ever happened.”

Jon Snow had been a shockingly incompetent commander. Soldiers must be fed and housed. Not only will they die without sustenance; they will cease to obey their officers long before they starve. I now saw another reason that his men had wished to kill him.

“Some of the castles,” I asked, “did have garrisons already?”

“A couple,” she said, “at least under the Old Bear. Eastwatch, the easternmost. And the Shadow Tower on the west end.”

“Not Westwatch?”

“No, there was no garrison there.”

“There really is a Westwatch?”

“Of course,” Jory said. “Shadow Tower is the last with a garrison, with Westwatch just to the east of it.”

“So,” I said, “we could be trying to pass a castle occupied by men who have been isolated for many months. With five beautiful women and four wagons stuffed with gold and food.”

“Possibly. I think there was fighting there and some of the Night’s Watch from here went to reinforce them. But I can’t tell if they left the Shadow Tower and came back to Castle Black, or if the wildlings or the Others wiped them out.”

“We must tell Lyra.”

“Tell Lyra what?” my adoptive sister asked, coming through the door exactly as I had expected.

Jory explained that the Shadow Tower might still hold a garrison.

“How many?” Lyra asked.

“Probably not many,” her sister replied. “Less than fifty. There’s a whole stack of messages from there, demanding and then begging for more men. The last several of them were never opened.”

Lyra took the chair facing Jory across the commander’s desk and slung her leg casually over its arm-rest.

“I don’t see any change for us,” she said. “All the reasons to avoid Winterfell remain.”

I thought on this.

“In my lands,” I said, “people left in an isolated location can become lawless. Violent. If the garrison remains, it has been cut off from direction since before my arrival in the North.”

“That happens here as well,” Lyra said. “If they exist, we may have to fight them.”

“Beth is ready to face enemies,” I said. “At least in terms of skill. I only worry that she is too eager and will take needless risks. The three of us are formidable together, but I do not know that we are formidable enough to kill fifty enemies.”

“What,” Lyra asked, “do you want to do?”

I thought on this some more; Lyra and Jory trusted my judgment. I had never liked bearing the burden of command, but sometimes it was necessary.

“Send the raven,” I finally said. “Let him see if anyone lives in the Shadow Tower. We can plan better when we know what we face.”

“Don’t let him take any risks,” Jory warned. “This whole plan falls apart without him.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris encounters advanced technology.


	61. Chapter Forty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beth Cassel receives a gift.

Chapter Forty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

Tansy waited anxiously for her pet’s return, while we rested the horses, ate and bathed. Jory put Lyra’s hair into two braids, and I asked her to do the same with mine, which drew a smile from Tansy. I practiced at swords with Jory, Beth and Lyra, and saw enough progress from Beth to hold a small ceremony.

The great hall of Castle Black had a raised dais that placed one table higher than the others, something I had noticed in Winterfell as well but not Greywater Watch. We used the larger dining hall as we had on our previous visit; another, darker hall decorated with shields on the walls appeared to have been intended for formal occasions but it seemed too dreary for us. Jory, Lyra, Tansy and I built fires in all of the hall’s fireplaces while Beth bathed, and laid a fine dinner on the main table. Then we summoned her, all five of us dressed in new sets of close-fitting Night’s Watch black leggings and tunics. She stood before the so-called “high table” where the rest of us sat. A small gap in the center of the table allowed me to step in front of it. I held the sword given me by Howland Reed, originally known as Lady Forlorn. Lyra joined me.

“Beth Cassel,” I said, in my formal princess voice, which sounded very odd to me in the lower pitch I had to use to speak their language. “Among my people, there is no greater bond than that sealed by the gift of weapons. It symbolizes an unbreakable union.”

I held the sword forward, unwrapped but still in its scabbard. “By giving you this sword, I pledge to you my love and loyalty,” I said. I handed it to Lyra, who repeated the same words.

“Now you accept the sword, the same way,” she whispered to Beth as she handed the sword back to me

“By accepting this sword, I pledge to you my love and loyalty.”

I held out the sword. She took it, and pulled the blade a little less than halfway out of its scabbard.

“This is a Valyrian steel blade. I’m not worthy.”

“That is my decision to make,” I said. “And I have made it.”

She stood, hugged me tightly, then did the same to Lyra, then hugged me again.

“Thank you,” she whispered in my ear. “Thank you so much.”

“Come, we have food.”

We took our seats and began to eat the dinner Tansy had prepared from Castle Black’s seemingly endless stocks of food – endless compared to the needs of five women, undoubtedly limited for a full-sized garrison. She had found a series of cold-storage chambers hacked into the ice of the Wall and filled with frozen meat, and prepared for us a very fine roast beef with potatoes and added a side dish of fresh mushrooms. I found it all very good; I usually found the food of this planet very good compared to that of Barsoom.

“Tell me about my sword,” Beth said as we sat side-by-side.

“It is a long sword of Valyrian steel.”

“Well yes, I can see that. Every sword has a story. Does this one?”

“A long and complex story,” I said. “I know little of the story and cared less to hear it. I took this sword from Lyn Corbray after I killed him in single combat. He began the fight by swinging the sword about and telling its story. He called it ‘Lady Forlorn.’ It belonged to his house for many years and he received it when his father fell in battle. Apparently, his older brother resented this.”

“He told the sword’s story in the arena?”

“He tried to do so. When I tired of his prattle, I killed him.”

“I was her squire,” Lyra added. “She rushed him, knocked him down and ran him through, all in a few seconds.”

“And you took the sword,” Beth prompted.

“Of course,” I said. “It is our way. The next day his brother and another knight challenged Lyra and myself, naming us thieves and whores and demanding the sword. We killed them.”

“The Knight of Ninestars,” Beth said, “had a reputation in the Vale second only to Lyn Corbray.”

She knew more of this story than she had let on.

“I did not kill him,” I said. “He attacked Lyra while he thought her distracted. I parried but she ran him through. I killed Lucas Corbray quickly; he was drunk. It was a very short fight.”

Beth envied Lyra for having fought alongside me against renowned foes; she burned to do the same.

“I gave the sword to Howland Reed,” I said, “when we went to fight the Others. He used it to kill one, and held it afterwards. He returned it to me just before we set out on this quest; his son Jojen Reed did not wish to wield it. What do you know about ‘greensight’?”

“Only a little,” Beth said. “Some people, like Lord Reed, have dreams and visions of the future. They may or may not come true. It’s a possible future, not one carved in stone.”

“That is my understanding as well,” I said. “I do not believe in gods or magic, as you have heard me say many times” – she thought I did not see her eyes roll – “but I saw Howland Reed follow his greensight to find his children north of the Wall. I cannot deny that he obtained knowledge that could not be explained by logic.”

I had also read his thoughts, and had some inkling of the visions inserted into his mind during sleep. He had definitely received something, though I never managed to trace the source.

“What,” Beth asked, “does that have to do with the sword?”

“Howland Reed saw me give the sword to a tall woman warrior, of very light brown hair, blue eyes and fine features.”

“Lyra.”

“Lyra’s hair is brown as are her eyes, with golden flecks within.” Beth smiled at the detail, and I saw Tansy beyond her do so as well. “She already wields a Valyrian blade, her family’s sword that I retrieved from the Night’s King after I slew him. The woman in his vision had no such sword.”

“I was meant to have this sword?”

“He said that I would need two women beside me, wielding swords of Valyrian steel.”

“Standing with you is my destiny?”

“Perhaps.”

“So you have a destiny as well?”

I had not truly considered this, but Howland Reed had been correct about the Night’s King.

“I do not know,” I said, truthfully. “I only wish to remain with my sisters.”

“I approve of that destiny,” Tansy said. “The one without the fighting and killing.”

“But she wouldn’t need me or Lyra for that,” Beth said.

“I do need you for that,” I said. “Both of you.”

She began to protest, but I cut her off.

“It is too late for objections. You already pledged your love and loyalty.”

She smiled instead, and softly punched my shoulder with her fist.

“I don’t like the killing,” Tansy went on, “but sometimes it’s necessary. Sometimes I’ve even encouraged it. I just worry that someday, it’s going to be one of you who dies. I don’t know that I could stand that.”

“I wish it were not necessary,” I said. “But this is the world in which we find ourselves. It is violent, even more so for women. We will do our best to survive. And our best is very good.”

I turned back to Beth.

“I am very proud of you, and glad to have you fight by my side.”

“Will you name the sword?” Jory asked from the other end of the table.

Beth looked at it, considering.

“No,” she said. “I’ll follow Dejah’s example.”

* * *

The raven returned on the following morning. He stood on the corner-post of the bed in the commander’s chambers where all five of us dozed in the early light of dawn, and hopped up and down.

“See!” he shrieked. “See! See!”

Without telepathy, the raven’s rantings would have been of little use. But he eagerly opened his mind to me, and I saw that the Shadow Tower still held at least two people: an elderly man wearing the black of the Night’s Watch, and a tall and exquisitely beautiful golden-haired woman dressed as one of the Free Folk. From their actions and speech, it seemed that a small number of other people were present as well. But the castle appeared to have no regular guard rotations and very little smoke overhead, implying that only a few people survived within.

I woke my sisters and repeated what I had learned from the bird.

“What do you think?” Lyra asked.

“I think we risk passing these few people,” I said. “We cover the chests with canvas, and then place food, Night’s Watch clothing and similar goods atop them. We can offer the garrison some food to mollify them if needed. If they want to fight, then we fight.”

“I agree,” she said. She looked at Tansy.

“Thank you,” my sister said, pleased at the respect shown. “I agree as well.”

We loaded fresh supplies of food onto the wagons; Lyra estimated that they could carry more now that we had a well-maintained gravel road on which to travel. As much as I wished to roast the oxen, I decided that we should keep them in case the road was not always in such fine condition, and Lyra agreed.

The Night’s Watch had left a large amount of black cloth and black clothing, apparently never worn, and we took some of these as well. I usually preferred to be unclothed but I liked our look when dressed all in tight-fitting black; on Barsoom, a warrior pays great attention to his or her appearance. The tunics draped below our waists, giving a skirt effect that eased my sisters’ concerns for modesty. We kept our black ringed armor and black, padded tunics known as “gambesons” to wear under it. I helped fit Tansy and Jory with these as well, though I fervently hoped that they would never need to wear them.

While I took a set of armor and gambeson, I knew that I could not wear them often. I had not told my sisters that my preference for nudity had a very real reason behind it beyond simple vanity - though I knew my body to be beautiful and wished for it to be admired. My people do not sweat as do the people of this planet and John Carter’s Dirt; instead we radiate excess through our skin. Should I wear the heavy gambeson too long, I could overheat and suffer a stroke or even death. In this cold weather I would probably survive. I had not suffered when I wore one to battle Ramsey Bolton’s army, but I would have to be careful when donning armor.

The road along the Wall had adequate drainage furrows and ditches along its edges, and so far remained in excellent condition despite the melting of the Wall. We made good progress, and the Watch had helpfully built shelters along the way for the convenience of its own wagon drivers. We spent the nights in their castles as well; the first two we encountered proved to be tumbledown ruins but the third, which Jory identified from her map as the Nightfort, showed signs of very recent repair work.

The Nightfort appeared larger than Castle Black, and I decided that we should at least inspect it before moving on. That suggestion made my little sister Jory very nervous, which surprised me.

“The castle is empty,” I said. “And there are no signs that the not-dead attacked here.”

“This place is legendary for its evil,” Beth explained. “Old Nan, who kept us as children, told a whole raft of horrid tales about it. The Rat Cook fed the king a pie made of bacon and the king’s son. A brother named Mad Axe killed his comrades in the dark of night. A poor girl named Danny Flint disguised herself as a boy, took the black and was raped and murdered.”

“And the Night’s King,” Jory added. “This is where he ruled with his corpse queen, back in the Age of Heroes.”

“I killed the Night’s King and his queen,” I said, trying to take a firm tone. “Their spirits died with them when their bodies burned. They have no power here. As long as I am with you, you are safe. I am Azor Ahai, Bringer of the Dawn, Daughter of the Red Star.”

“Then I’ll stay right by your side,” Beth said, “if it’s all the same to you.”

“You do not fear living men with swords,” I said, “but you do fear shadows and ghosts?”

“You taught me how to fight the men with swords. I don’t recall any ghost-fighting lessons.”

I dismounted and walked my mare forward into the castle’s courtyard. Beth and Jory reluctantly followed. Behind them, I saw my older sisters watch them with amusement.

“This castle is very close to the last one,” I said. “That does not seem efficient.”

“No one wanted to stay here,” Jory said. “And as the Watch dwindled, it was far too large for their needs. One of the queens paid for a new castle, Deep Lake, to replace it.”

“Deep Lake was in no better condition than this ruin.”

“No,” Jory answered, “it also stood empty a long time, but not as long.”

“Who was trying to rebuild this place?” I asked her.

“According to Jon Snow’s correspondence, he’d given it to King Stannis as his base of power and sent a team of builders to prepare it.”

“Jon Snow had few men. How many did he waste here?”

“Twenty plus his head builder.”

“Twenty men could have worked for a hundred years,” Tansy said, “and not repaired this monstrosity. It’s no Harrenhal, but it’s still huge.”

When I fought the Night’s King, the former Jon Snow, I had imagined that his own men had killed him because of his morose and childish attitude. Now I understood that he had also been an exceptionally poor leader, manager and strategist. Concentration of force is a principle taught to all officers of Helium within our first days of training and hammered home every day afterwards. The twenty men deployed here could never rebuild this castle, yet would not be available to improve the weak fortifications of Castle Black or aid in its defense. All they could do here was die, the one task they had apparently accomplished.

Like the other Night’s Watch castles, the Nightfort had no walls and no gates. It apparently had been abandoned for many decades before Jon Snow’s builders started trying to bring it back into service: the courtyards were filled with fully-grown trees that had been cut down, but only a few of the stumps had been dug out. All of the buildings were damaged to some extent, with some fallen into no more than piles of stone with their wooden elements long rotted away.

The workers had almost fully repaired one building, a wide-based stone tower with an open top that Jory said would hold bells when complete. I convinced my sisters that we could safely spend the night there, as the workers obviously had done so and not courted grisly deaths. At least none of them had been spackled across the inner walls.

We unhitched and untacked our horses, and put them in the corral, which had also been rebuilt. Then we took up torches and explored the remaining segments of the castle. Apparently, a rocky hill had stood here and been incorporated into the Wall, and many galleries and tunnels had then been driven into the stone to form part of the castle.

I led the way, with my sisters clustered tightly behind me, even Beth and Lyra who had never shown fear of sword-wielding enemies. Some minimal work had been done to clear animal nests and general debris, but the castle still had the feel of a place long abandoned. As best as we could tell it had no stocks of food or other supplies, and I decided not to torture my sisters by descending into the lower levels. Beth claimed that a magical gate existed down below and I wished to see this wonder, but the sheer terror of my companions had begun to make me uncomfortable so we returned to the sunlight. 

* * *

After Evening Meal, I declared that I wanted to see this magical gate, even if I had to do so alone. After some mild argument in which Jory and Beth tried to convince me to abandon the notion, I insisted that I wished to see the marvel and Tansy in turn insisted that she would come with me.

All they could tell me about this “Black Gate,” beyond its magical qualities, was that it lay _under_ the Nightfort. Since it had to be somehow connected to the castle to be of any use in passing through the Wall, I reasoned that this meant it lay on the castle’s lowest level. And so, armed with torches – and, of course, my sword – Tansy and I set out for the lowest levels of the Nightfort.

The search took many hours; the castle did not have discreet levels and appeared to have been built rather haphazardly over many centuries. New galleries and tunnels had been hollowed out of the rock, and new shafts driven into it, whenever and wherever the garrison felt the need.

Eventually I turned my reasoning skills to the problem, as Tansy and I sat and ate some dry biscuits and cheese in a heavily-damaged open room of some sort. The gate was said to be hidden, and this was likely true to some extent. Yet it could not be too deeply hidden, or it would be impossible to use. It would have no purpose if no one could access it.

The magic gate was also old. Some parts of the Nightfort had clearly been dug after others, and we could rule out those newer areas. Access to the gate likely would come through one of the older, better-made sections – much like Winterfell, one could obviously see a decline in engineering skill and technology in the castle’s construction. The oldest sections in fact shared the same evidence of re-cast molten rock techniques; this castle’s core was indeed very old. So we should look for a downward shaft, perhaps not from a public area like the huge meeting hall but somewhere accessible, and lined with cast stone.

Eventually we found such a downward passage, a spiral staircase that later generations had rigged to serve as a well. On the lowest level a fairly deep depression sank into the floor that appeared to have once held water; over the decades or centuries the water table here must have lowered. That would soon reverse itself as the Wall melted and released a great deal of water into the ground.

Despite the structure’s age, the cast rock had held up well, another sign of superior technology. I had seen similar resilience in some of Barsoom’s ancient abandoned cities. A passage led deep into the hillside, finally terminating at a face. It looked much like the screaming faces carved on the trees worshipped by the Northern people, and appeared as though it had been constructed of the same white wood. Unlike the tree-faces, when we drew close its eyes opened and stared at us.

The eyes had no pupils, and looked somewhat like those of a blind person. I detected no thoughts, but as I approached to inspect the face more closely the eyes tracked my movement.

“Is it alive?” Tansy asked.

“Who are you?” the gate countered.

“No,” I said. “It is a voice-activated mechanism. We have them on Barsoom.”

“Who are you?” the gate repeated.

“It awaits a specific code phrase, probably one having to do with the Night’s Watch.”

“It’s not magic?”

“I do not believe so,” I said. “It is a machine. A very complex machine, one your people should not be capable of making for many centuries yet to come.”

“What happens when it hears what it wants to hear?”

“I assume it opens a gate. Perhaps it is itself the gate and widens from the screaming mouth.”

“It can stretch like that?”

“Yes,” I said. “We have elastic materials that could easily produce an opening large enough for a person to pass through. But their manufacture requires very advanced science.”

“Who are you?” the gate intoned again.

“Can it say anything else?” Tansy wondered.

“If it were of Barsoom, it might be able to harm enemies who did not know the code phrase. Or sometimes there is an override.”

That gave me an idea. I stepped in front of the face.

“Lord Commander override,” I told it. “Emergency repair mode.”

“Override code required,” it replied. “Voice recognition negative.”

“It acknowledged you!” Tansy said, amazed.

“List authorized personnel,” I said.

“Override code required,” it repeated. “Voice recognition negative.”

I stepped back to the side of the face.

“It is a very old machine,” I said, “and probably no longer functions properly.”

“Is it dangerous?” Tansy asked.

“I doubt that. There is no evidence here of victims. Surely someone would have been killed here after this many years, or some wandering animal would have perished.”

“So, what is it?”

“A piece of advanced . . .” they had no word for technology, “science that does not belong here. I am wondering how old your planet might be, and if it once had a more advanced society on it.”

“So,” Tansy said, “we’re the remnants of a once-great people?”

“Possibly. So are my people. Do not feel lesser for it.”

“I don’t. Only curious.”

“I am curious as well,” I said. “Let me try something else.”

I once again faced the face.

<<Emergency override.>> I told it in a firm command voice. <<Royal prerogative code seven-six-six-nine, Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium.>>

I gave it my royal code in my own language. And it answered.

<<Planetary transport inoperative.>>

“Holy shit,” Tansy said, her voice hushed in amazement. “It answered you.”

“It did. It may be a machine of Barsoom, or set to recognize my language, or possess a universal translation capability.”

“Does that exist?”

“I have read studies of it,” I said. “We are beginning to contact other worlds. But our approach requires mind-to-mind contact. This machine gives off no such impulses.”

“What did it say?”

“I believe it meant that it cannot engage in planet-to-planet transport, though that is not what I asked it. I simply gave it my special code.”

I wondered what it had meant by planetary transport. Could such a machine exist in working condition somewhere, capable of reaching Barsoom? Had this machine played a role in my arrival here?

I decided to try again.

<<Open primary portal.>>

The face remained expressionless and inert, saying nothing.

<<Open primary portal. Emergency override.>>

Apparently, it needed to hear the word “override,” but that did not help a great deal.

<<Code authentication required.>>

<<Royal prerogative code seven-six-six-nine, Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium. Emergency override.>>

<<Code not valid for primary portal.>>

I had another idea.

<<Display visual, primary portal locus. Emergency override.>>

<<Displaying.>>

One of the eyes widened to become a screen roughly the span of my forearm across. It showed the interior of a stone-built building, similar to the cast-rock of this castle or Winterfell but red in color.

“The Red Keep!” Tansy exclaimed. “Look at the design in the stone. That’s what the lower levels of the Red Keep looked like when we escaped Cersei’s bedchamber.”

<<Display visuals,>> I told it, <<all portal loci. Emergency override.>>

<<Displaying.>>

One by one, the eye-screen showed similar rooms: some of black stone, some of gray. None showed any people in them, but all told I counted six locations including the Red Keep and a rough cave that I assumed stood on the other side of the Wall.

<<All other loci inoperative.>>

“That’s . . . incredible,” Tansy said in a breathy voice. “You’re sure it’s not magic?”

“Positive. It is science. A machine made by people.”

I had another thought.

<<Display planetary grid showing all portal loci. Emergency override.>>

A high-quality image appeared showing blinking lights at four locations on a continent Tansy identified as Westeros.

“The one up top would be this one,” she said. “I believe the others are King’s Landing and Oldtown. Not sure what this other might be; that’s somewhere in the Westerlands.”

The display zoomed out to show that it moved to the east, and showed another continent also with four locations highlighted by blinking lights, then a third continent with two and finally a fourth continent with six.

“That’s more lights than it showed portals,” Tansy observed.

“Some of them must be inoperable,” I said. “The system is surely very old.”

<<Display planetary system,>> I told it. <<Emergency override.>>

<<Planetary mode unavailable.>>

“What do you think it did?” Tansy asked. “When it actually worked.”

“Instant transportation of goods and people, and communications,” I guessed. “Perhaps other services, like information.”

“Sure sounds like magic to me.”

“It is surprising that no one here felt the need to worship it.”

“That’s unfair,” Tansy said. “We’re ignorant, I’ll grant you that. We’re not stupid. Well, not all of us. I’d wager you had some terrifically stupid people on Barstool.”

“Barsoom. And I am sorry. You know that I love and respect you.”

“It’s alright. What do you want to do now?”

“Re-join our sisters,” I said. “They are nervous and unable to sleep. I would like to return here in the morning to study this machine, and perhaps draw it.”

“We’re not in a rush, as long as you can keep Jory from running off into the woods in blind panic.”

I returned to the machine after First Meal and exercises, trying all verbal combinations I could imagine, in my language and theirs. I tapped the walls all around the machine and felt them for warmth, seeking its power source. I found nothing. I considered finding a tool and digging around the machine, but did not wish to damage it.

Jory finally came to see it, and suggested that the code phrase had to be something known to all brothers of the Night’s Watch, perhaps the oath they swore. But we did not know this oath and so could not activate the portal with it; I would not have wished to step through it in any case, not knowing if one could return. Beth spoke to it in the language of Tyrosh, but it refused to answer; she did not know exact translations for phrases and words that may have been keywords.

After a second day spent in the cavern of the portal, I had exhausted my attempts to activate the machine or obtain information from it. We finally saddled up and rode out of the Nightfort, giving great relief to all of my sisters. All of them had eventually descended to view the portal, but all displayed much greater disquiet in its presence than had Tansy. I knew that Tansy had not liked remaining in the machine’s presence, but she did so out of love for me.

I had much to occupy my mind on the ride. Hearing my own language, so distinct from the speech of Westeros or Tyrosh, had brought deep memories and longing to the surface. My home world existed – though I had never consciously entertained such doubts, my sub-conscious must have wondered if I had become insane and imagined my prior life, for I now felt profound relief at this confirmation.

While I still could not read Tansy’s thoughts easily, I detected a change in her attitude. She had never fully believed my tale of an origin on another planet. Now she had seen proof of technology far beyond her people’s understanding.

The portal did not appear to be any sort of technology I recognized, though it reminded me of the leftover artifacts of the ancient, long-dead Orovar civilization of Barsoom in ways that I could not fully describe. Already, the Wall melted. The ground had become saturated, and the lower levels of the Nightfort had been very damp. Soon the chamber with the portal would fill with water, and access would be lost. If I wished to make use of it, I would need to ride back to the castle and do so immediately.

Could this machine return me to my home? Did I wish to do so? I had not thought of John Carter in days; as I already knew, I had chosen to remain with my sisters rather than attempt to find my husband and thereby appease Tardos Mors. I certainly had no interest in finding him on my own accord, and smiled as I considered that he likely was susceptible to the diseases of this planet. But Thuvia had remained on Barsoom, as had my mother Princess Heru.

I was reasonably certain that Tansy and Beth would follow me through the gate to a new world, but equally sure that Lyra and Jory would not abandon Bear Island and their family. And that I did not wish to be parted from either of them. So if this planet was to be my home, did the machine present a danger? Might someone or something come through it from another planet? Someone more dangerous than I?

As long as it remained buried under the Nightfort, I did not see any real threat from this old technology. But it did serve as a potent reminder that other leftovers of a long-dead civilization could still be present. The Valyrian people who had forged my sword had had access to far greater knowledge than the current nations of Westeros and likely of the other continents, but perhaps they themselves were an echo of an even greater past. 

* * *

The ride along the Wall seemed to go quickly; I spent much of it lost in my own thoughts, drawing amused reactions from my sisters. By this point all of them, even Beth, had become used to my withdrawn nature when something – usually a question of science – caught my imagination. I noticed that Lyra made sure that I never rode alone, though even when my mind engaged the mystery of the portal most deeply, my telepathic senses remained alert to potential dangers. Other than a few animals, I detected nothing.

The road remained well-maintained and paved with gravel; while the wheels on occasion sank through the stones into the mud beneath, we did not encounter any problems that the oxen could not quickly address. I would not have wished to take the wagons back the way we came, as our passing left deep ruts in the road bed.

The next castle, “Icemark” according to Jory’s map, consisted of chambers hacked into the ice of the Wall and a few collapsed wooden buildings. These showed some signs of habitation; someone had pulled pieces off of the buildings and apparently burned them as firewood. We found no bodies here.

Though named “castles,” these structures had no defenses, which seemed somewhat ill-advised to me. According to Jory, the Lords of the North forbade the Night’s Watch from building walls around their castles, to prevent another Night’s King from arising. That had not stopped Jon Snow, and seemed a rather stupid policy since the Free Folk could obviously cross the Wall almost at will and then attack the defenseless Night’s Watch castles from their rear flank.

We passed decrepit “castles” called Hoarfrost Hill and Stonedoor, each a pile of ruins. Someone had recently camped at Stonedoor but made no effort at repairs. I wondered if Stonedoor had a stone door, but we could find no such passage through the Wall. The next location, Greyguard, proved to be in even worse shape, with no buildings standing.

At Sentinel Stand, the last castle before the Shadow Tower, we once again saw signs of recent visitation. And again, no one remained here. With no signs of battle, it seemed likely that the troops had been called away rather than slaughtered here; they probably had instead been slaughtered at Castle Black.

The weather remained very pleasant for our journey: blue skies marked with small puffy clouds. I now became sure that the temperature was slowly rising. I found that I had become used to the strangeness of the Wall looming over us, always present at my right hand.

I wondered how it had stood for so long and maintained its discrete shape. How deep did it extend underground, and how did it affect the water table? How did the ground nearby remain unfrozen? How did it renew itself?

Eventually, I realized, the Wall would melt away. The mysterious portal under the Nightfort likely would no longer be accessible, but I would be able to study whatever lay at the Wall’s core. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris undertakes a sea voyage.


	62. Chapter Eighteen (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter learn that the scars of Pretty Meris are more than skin deep.

Chapter Eighteen (John Carter)

While I had sent Selmy to restore order in Yunkai and Astapor, I wanted to visit the cities myself. Having seen the explosion of corruption in Meereen, I knew it would be worse in the other cities where it was out of my sight and out of range of my telepathy. I would take Groleo’s ship _Saduleon_ , with Lizhi, Calye and Lynesse. Meris and Grey Worm came as well to survey the cities’ fortifications and assess their defenses while Syrio and both of his Qartheen playmates joined so that I could spar. Ten Hyrkoon warriors and ten Dothraki Companions rounded out my entourage.

Selmy would have command of my armies in my absence, with Skahaz overseeing the city administration. Varys would remain as well, under orders to apply his skills to rooting out opposition to my rule. I knew Skahaz to be a fanatical supporter, sure to be the first to die were I overthrown, and Selmy to be utterly loyal. I feared that Selmy’s honor would prevent his taking the necessary harsh measures were they needed.

My princess would remain in Meereen, as would Doreah and Rastifa the Beautiful. I considered taking my Hyrkoon lover as well, but at Lizhi’s advice I left her in Meereen while I chose whether to marry her alongside Arianne. Ornela would be there to make sure that Tyrion Lannister did not convince Daenerys to interfere with Selmy and Skahaz. At the last moment I considered fulfilling Irri’s unspoken wishes and ordering her to board the ship as well, but left her with Daenerys. I would come to regret that decision.

Arianne would also remain in Meereen. She intended to seduce my wife in my absence; I had decided to allow that course to play out as it would. If her charms convinced Daenerys, then I would marry Arianne and perhaps Rastifa as well. If she failed, I would thank her with all the grace I could muster and send her back to Dorne with rich gifts and genuine regret. But I would keep the sword she had gifted me.

* * *

Dragons’ Bay, as my princess had insisted on re-naming it, was an unpleasant sea marked by gray waters, masses of brownish seaweed and hot winds that Groleo said came off Valyria. I saw no fishing boats; apparently the sea life in this poisoned bay was not considered edible, an observation Groleo later confirmed.

 _Saduleon_ was a carrack, a big four-masted ship propelled solely by her sails. Groleo proudly showed off his command; she actually belonged to Illyrio and had only recently been placed in commission. She was one of the first of her type, and Groleo foresaw vast profit potential as she could carry several times the cargo of the older cog-type vessels that carried most trade.

I regretted that I recalled nearly nothing of ships, sails and the sea. I once had had a close friend named Gullivar who had been a sailor, but I only barely remembered his name. I had the idea that I had been aboard ships more advanced than _Saduleon_ , but had not been a sailor myself.

Groleo hoped that I would support building more such ships, and I gladly agreed. The small trading vessels I had seen at Qarth and in Meereen’s harbor could perhaps carry 100 men or two dozen horses. I wanted to invade Westeros with at least 50,000 men - requiring 500 such ships, plus 400 more for 10,000 horses. Or we could do so with 180 ships like _Saduleon_. That would reduce losses in transit, and allow us to land a more concentrated force.

It would take at least two years to build those ships, and construction wouldn’t begin until Pentos and Myr, and their shipyards, were fully under our control. My princess would not appreciate the delay, but I considered the greater odds of success to more than justify waiting for better ships.

Despite the hot winds and foul-smelling sea, I determined to enjoy the voyage. Lynesse found the ship’s motion troubling, and though she did not become seasick neither did she show her usual enthusiasm for love-making. I ended up using Calye to relieve my needs, allowing her to do so with her tongue.

I recalled climbing the rigging of a ship, and raced the _Saduleon_ ’s ship’s boys up and down the ratlines. I had great fun, but the sight upset both of my lovers. From the top of the mainmast I deployed my telescope to observe the passing lands I had conquered, or more correctly that my wife had conquered in my name.

* * *

After I concluded a practice session with my sword master, Syrio began to work with Calye while I perched alone on a bench at the ship’s stern with a skin of the horrible wine of Meereen. At least I couldn’t see its putrid gray-green color. Meris joined me without asking permission and held out her hand. I placed the skin in it and she drank.

“They say you appeared out of the desert,” she said without preamble. “No horse, no clothes, no past.”

I could not tell from her thoughts what she sought. I saw no harm in answering.

“That’s mostly true,” I said. “I don’t have full memories of my past. I don’t know where or what I was before I awoke in the desert, but I do know something of my life well before then. At least I believe it to be well before then. So I do have a past, but it’s a fractured one.”

“A partial past,” she said in her guttural voice. “Where was this past? And when?”

“You ask for a reason,” I said, not making it a question.

“I do. I mean no insult. I’d know more of the man I swore willingly to follow, if you’ll indulge me the time.”

“I’ve nothing else to do at the moment,” I said, reaching for the wineskin. “And I don’t know where this past took place. That is, I have memories of Virginia, I just have no idea where Virginia might be. The plants, the animals of these lands look familiar to me. I speak the languages, or at least recognize them, and I can read them. I understand the weapons, though I’ve known more advanced types. Yet the maps are different, the names of people and places are strange, and the history doesn’t feel the same.

“As for time? I can’t say I’ve given that much thought. A great deal of time could have passed for all that I know.”

“Do you believe in any god, or gods?”

“No,” I said promptly.

“So how did you appear?”

“I have no idea,” I said, looking out over the water to avoid looking at her scarred face at close range. “Does it matter?”

She believed that it did.

“Tell me,” I prompted.

“I also appeared,” she said. “One moment I was in Westeros, and a man I believed that I loved was shoving my own sword through my heart. He told me he’d never loved me while I pathetically breathed his name. I collapsed, and I died. And then I was lying on a battlefield in Essos, a deep and bloody wound right here,” she touched the center of her chest, “and one on my back to match, as though I’d been run through. Yet somehow, I healed, and lived.”

“There’s more,” I said, and handed her the wine. She drank the skin dry, and dropped it to the deck.

“It gets even more odd,” she said, “but I assure you that it’s true. Or at least it seems true to me.”

I nodded to show that I understood the qualification.

“Twenty years had passed,” she said, “or had yet to pass. I’m not sure how to say it. I died for the first time in the Westerosi year 300. I eventually learned that it was the year 278 when I found myself lying dead, or should have been dead, in the Disputed Lands. Either way I’d been stripped and left for burial, no weapons, no coin, no clothing or armor. I staggered away before the gravediggers could toss me in a pit and cover me with lime. No one knew me, or even spoke my language. I don’t know if I fought in that battle or just appeared there as a corpse.

“I had a . . . a final memory. Or maybe a delirium; death’s pain was more intense than any I’ve ever felt. There was someone there, a woman, as I died. And even though I’d been unloved in life, a hulking mockery of a woman almost as ugly as I am now, this stranger cried over my death, and I had this feeling that that act somehow transported me.”

She waited for me to name her a lunatic. I wished for more wine, even the sludge-filled dreck of Meereen.

“So you’ll die this year,” I said. “Unless it’s all a hallucination.”

“Yesterday,” she said. “I died yesterday, by the calendar. I kept expecting to drop dead at any moment. But here I am and I could be mad. It’s likely that I am. I sought you out after I heard of your story, in case you were someone like me.”

“I don’t know that I died,” I said, “and I don’t know that I didn’t. Yet I feel as though I’ve lived for a very great length of time, more than a single lifetime. Perhaps I’ve died more than once. I just don’t know, and don’t trouble my thoughts over it.”

“You believe my story.”

“I believe that you believe it. I recognize that it’s no more insane than what I know, or suspect, happened to me. I appreciate the trust you showed in telling me.”

“I wanted to know if I was the only one, if you were like me. I had to know. Knowing me to be mad, do you still desire my service?”

“I do,” I said. “Reliable officers are hard to come by. And your story’s no stranger than mine.”

I caught a flash of her thoughts.

“You would ask a favor of me.”

“The fool I was, that believer in knightly honor, died with me the first time. I only wish one thing now. When we reach Westeros, Princess Daenerys wishes to execute Jaime Lannister.”

“The man who killed you.”

“Yes. And sent me to hell. Let me be the one to return the favor.”

I gestured for one of the ship’s boys to bring more wine, and we finished the new skin but said no more.

* * *

Selmy had left Yunkai in the hands of a former mercenary named Ben Plumm, a Westerosi who had served in Meereen some years previously. Called “Brown Ben,” he had the features of a white man but had been tanned permanently brown by years of outdoor life. Plumm had skimmed some cash for himself, but not excessively so under the watchful eyes of his khaleen and Hyrkoon minders. I noted with approval that he did not lay on an ostentatious feast of greeting, simply asking what I wished to see of the city. I appreciated the direct approach.

“Show us the walls,” I said. “And I’ll inspect the recruits.”

“The walls are a disaster,” he said. “The recruits less so. I stopped at 10,000, as Selmy ordered, and the Unsullied have been training them. They’re ex-slaves so they follow orders perhaps too well, but they’re willing enough.”

We walked the walls as best we could; in several places the parapet had collapsed of its own accord. Meris sketched several places, but kept her counsel to herself for the moment. Plumm knew and feared my new engineer, and pointedly avoided her company as far as possible.

Yunkai looked more a ruin than a city. Its walls and most buildings were faced with yellow brick; many of their façades had crumbled. The walls indeed were a disaster, and the buildings even worse. The city had supposedly prospered from training sex slaves, but if this were true the profits had not been plowed back into Yunkai.

“How are you set for food?” I asked Plumm as we looked over the ramshackle port from one of the intact towers.

“We’re only feeding the masses by tapping the winter grain stores,” he said. “It’s always mild this far south, but the city kept a healthy supply to feed the slaves since sales slow during bad sailing weather.”

Plumm had learned of my preference to work through meals, and had a simple spread brought to the tower for our small party.

“You received my orders on land re-distribution?”

“Yes, my lord,” Plumm said. “We have just two survey teams, and I made sure each had a strong escort. The Dothraki return to check on the farmers every few days. Scares hell out of them but has kept them alive so far.

“The land’s not bad. Not as good as that behind Meereen, but good enough. But you can’t get rich growing grain. We - the whole city and the hinterland - we need something to spark trade. I’ve got fifty thousand excellent whores and no one to give them coin.”

“Some serious mistakes were made here,” I said, alluding to my princess’ rash actions but not naming them. By his thoughts, Plumm understood the reference. “If we don’t keep these people fed and sheltered, disease is going to run right through them and take all in its wake, rich and poor.”

“I understand that,” he said, quickly appending, “my lord. And for now, we have that covered. Your wild women put every Wise Master they could find to the sword, and the newly freed did for most of their families. That left nearly all the pyramids and mansions empty. So there’s food and there’s shelter, and thousands of idle hands with nothing for their future.”

“Ideas?”

“From me? I’m a soldier, and not a very good one. Men followed me because I know how to survive, not because I could fight. I imagine that’s why the old knight picked me for this job. All I can tell you is that all of those people with nothing to occupy them are as good as a cask of wildfire, just waiting for a spark.”

I added more grilled lamb to my plate and considered Plumm’s report. Yunkai, like Meereen, needed economic activity. No doubt Astapor did as well. A ruler can’t overturn centuries of slavery and expect the people to suddenly find a new way. They needed leadership, and they looked to me to provide it.

“This city needs new walls,” Meris suddenly said. “I’d wager the sewers and everything else is crumbling just as badly. That’s plenty of work for willing hands.”

“New walls?” I prompted. Plumm had been terrified into silence by Meris actually speaking. Apparently, she had been known to say little before entering my service.

“I want to see them close up,” she continued. “And what I can of the inner structure. But so far it looks like it would be better to tear them down and start again with new ones.”

“I agree,” Grey Worm said. “The city Yunkai has but one wall, and it is fallen in many places. It should have two, and a clear glacis outside.”

“You’ve been studying,” I said.

“This one has been guided by Orange Cat. Unsullied are not taught to do more than fight. This one would learn more, to justify John Carter’s confidence.”

“I approve,” I said, “and you’re right. A city of this size should have a double curtain wall, multiple offset gates, towers, redoubts and a solid keep.”

“All that’s well and good,” Plumm said, visibly recoiling at a glance from Meris. “I’m serious, it is. It’s paid work for thousands of hands. And then what shall they do with their money?”

“Where there’s coin,” Syrio spoke for the first time, “someone always appears to take it. Do not worry on that account, my new friend.”

“I want to talk to some farmers,” I said. “And see the land for myself. We’ll ride out into the countryside tomorrow, you and I with the Dothraki ko. Grey Worm and Meris will remain here and continue their inspection of the troops and fortifications, assisted by the Honored Lizhi.”

* * *

I left Syrio as well to look after Lynesse. I had hoped to enjoy her now that we had left the ship, but she disliked riding when she could avoid it and I wished to keep my attention focused on the land and people. Ko Zekko, a lithe and dark man who commanded the Dothraki on our southern frontier, joined us as well.

“You have had no problems?” I asked him as we started into the rolling hills. “It is not so exciting as riding against the zorse-herders.”

“That it is not,” he smiled. “It’s necessary, so that all are fed. The Hyrkoon women killed the slave-holders most determined to resist. That makes the others much faster to obey your orders. We impaled one, and that was all that was needed.”

“And the Lamb Men?”

“Not all think we do them a favor,” Zekko said. “They fear Dothraki, but this is known. It’s more than that. They don’t know how to be free men. With no one to tell them what to do, they sit still and await death. Just sit in one place until they die. You will see.”

“How do we stop that?”

Zekko mused, then patted his horse’s neck.

“Tax them,” he said. “Make them produce. They need to know what rules to follow. Now they have too much freedom. Give them orders they can obey.”

I had taken Calye along to tend to my needs, and when darkness fell I took her Dothraki-fashion under the open night sky, in the saddle with her facing me. She placed her hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes as I felt my release.

“You love me,” she whispered. “Say it.”

“I don’t love you.”

“Say it, say it anyway. And kiss me.”

And so I did.

* * *

As Zekko had described, we saw farms run by energetic families eager to get crops in the ground and reap the rewards of their hard work, hard alongside others where the residents sheltered in dugouts or piles of sticks, unable to muster the will to even build permanent housing.

The land was not as bountiful as that behind Meereen or, Plumm had told me, Astapor. It could still grow grain, olives and the disgusting wine grapes raised in the region, but it lacked the slow-moving rivers that kept the other cities’ hinterlands so well-watered.

Wine. I would place another condition on Arianne Martell’s marriage offer. Her father would provide rootstocks and cuttings, in quantity, so these putrid little green grapes could be ripped out of their hillside vineyards and replaced with good decent fruit. Apparently I had decided to accept her proposal.

I spoke to would-be farmers, and found them much as Zekko had described - overwhelmed by the responsibilities that come with freedom. Others, by contrast, seemed excited by the opportunities.

“How,” I asked Plumm as we rode to the next farm, “did you select those who received farms?”

“They volunteered,” he said. “These are the most motivated. The ones back in Yunkai, those are far worse.”

The next farm hove into sight, and proved to be a planation house. Though the architecture looked vaguely Aztec to me, I recognized its purpose right away.

“These plantations,” I gestured, “what’s been done with them?”

“Not much,” Plumm said. “They’ve all been looted pretty thoroughly, some burned. Some are huge farmhouses now, but most are empty as far as I know.”

He looked across me at Ko Zekko, who nodded. “That is true.”

“Do you have plenty of clerks?” I asked. “Literate ex-slaves, experienced in keeping accounts?”

“Inkpots would know for sure,” he said. “My old paymaster, Tybero Istarion, keeps the city accounts now. But it’s not many; quite a few who served the Wise Masters perished when the lower-ranking slaves had their chains struck off. Yunkai trained bed slaves, male and female. If it’s clerks and teachers and accountants you want, Meereen has those.”

“What I’m considering,” I said, “is to house the failed farmers in these plantations, and hire them out to the farmers with working farms as day labor.”

“Day labor?” Zekko asked.

“Farming is a great deal of work,” I explained. “Building fences, pulling weeds, cutting wood, milking cows. There’s always more work than hands.”

“So they would pay for extra hands,” Plumm said. “Hands the royal government without a king would provide.”

“At first,” I said. “Hopefully their children will be less stunned by freedom.”

“Only you can decide this,” Zekko said. “But anything is better than what I have seen.”

* * *

I met with Tybero Istarion after our return to Yunkai; he proved a capable man though just as grasping as Plumm. Again, as long as he only grasped a small amount and completed his tasks, I did not really care. He had already formed similar labor organizations within the city to repair buildings, clear the streets and perform basic sanitation; he believed that extending them to the countryside would not be difficult. He believed he had enough literate former slaves to staff the organization.

“You’ve been a soldier a long time,” I observed.

“If you can call it that,” he said. Istarion was a slender man with thin gray hair, originally from Braavos. “I fought for the Sealord as a young man, was captured by sellswords, claimed I was a sellsword too so’s not to be put to death. A lot of the companies do that, they massacre city militiamen and add other sellswords to their own ranks. Sort of an honor amongst thieves. Once I’d done that, I could never go home. I’ve done little fighting, almost always served as clerk or paymaster.”

“You keep honest accounts.”

“For the most part,” he said. “You have to be scrupulous with the troops. Absolutely above-board. You can guess what happens if they decide you’re not.”

“Yet you’ve taken some extra for yourself.”

“They say none can lie to you,” he said, tentatively. I nodded. “Well yes, I may have undervalued some of the spoils allotted to me and to Plumm.”

“See that no more undervaluing occurs.”

“Else we’ll ride poles like Naharis? Understood.”

I left him to find Meris and Gray Worm, to be met by a Dothraki dispatch rider rushing into the pyramid Plumm had taken as his headquarters.

“My khal,” he said, breathing hard. “Enemies from over the sea. A report.”

He handed me a message tube; inside one of the few literate Dothraki had scrawled a sighting report. Some 24,000 foot soldiers had come ashore on the south coast; prisoner reports said they came from New Ghis, an island city off said coast, with the intent of “liberating” the former slaver cities from my rule.

I thanked the rider and told him to settle his horse and find food and drink - the Dothraki always saw to their mounts first. I found Plumm in the conference room outside his office and told him what had occurred. He sent servants to find my senior staff.

“What can we march with,” I asked, “right now?”

“If you leave no garrison? Five thousand foot, three thousand Dothraki, most of those outside the walls. I can guarantee you’ll lose the city without a garrison.”

I studied the distances involved on the map mounted on the wall.

“Now if you had those dragons,” Plumm added, “it would be no problem. Just toast the bastards and be done.”

“They’re not reliable yet,” I said. “But they’re not the source of my power anyway. I’ll leave you fifteen hundred regular foot, no Dothraki. We’ll take the most advanced recruits of the training brigade as well.”

Astapor should have a similar force. I made my decisions as Groleo, Grey Worm and Ko Zekko entered.

“Ko Zekko,” I greeted the Dothraki. “We ride again to battle, my brother.”

“Excellent news, my khal. What are your wishes?”

“Combine your khas with those outside Astapor. Place your force between the Ghiscari and Astapor, but fall back as they advance. When they are well away from their ships, begin to harass and destroy their supply system. Be sure they advance far enough that they cannot easily retreat. I want none of them returning to their homes.”

He nodded, already considering how he would organize his raiders. I looked to Meris.

“Tell me about these Ghiscari.”

“They call their troops the lockstep legions,” she said. “Infantry, trained to maneuver in tight formation. Good discipline. Sword, shield and spear, backed by archers, little or no cavalry.”

“Even against Dothraki?”

“They hire free companies to make up their horse. They’ll not find many of those now.”

We would be outnumbered, though not excessively so, and have a great advantage in mounted troops. Without the heavy cavalry, we wouldn’t have a means of breaking their formation and there would be bloody, close-quarters infantry fighting.

I had sent Selmy southward with solid infantry regiments, most of the troops former Qartheen Civic Guards with an admixture of ex-slaves and sellswords. Selmy had been pleased with their state of morale, training and discipline. Now we would discover the value of our training program, and the wisdom of mixing former slaves with men born free.

“Grey Worm,” I said. “You’ll lead the infantry out of Yunkai, directly south for Astapor. I’ll sail south for Astapor on the _Saduleon_ and bring the regiments from there to meet you. We’ll find good ground in front of the Ghiscari and await them there.”

“You’ll not attack?” Plumm asked. “Nor defend behind the walls?”

“No,” I said. “Not on the battlefield, at any rate. We find a good place for defense and force them to attack us on it. After days of raids by Ko Zekko on their supply lines, they’ll be feeling hunger and growing desperate. When they fail to break us, they’ll lose hope and their army will break up. And then Ko Zekko will finish them.”

“You can tell what they’ll do.” Plumm said it flatly, not as a question.

“More or less,” I said. “They’ve already shown their intent to march on Astapor. Men have to eat, and while they march through lands that can support them, Ko Zekko will take that away. We know they have to then march forward or retreat. They can’t retreat over lands they’ve already stripped of food. Or they can, and die.

“A general I once knew liked to say that war is simple. You get there first with the most men. We won’t have the most men, but by choosing our ground and wearing down their numbers we can make up for that. We still need to get there first, and Ko Zekko will see to that.”

“It is known,” the dark man said. “John Carter’s ways of battle don’t fail.”

“They can,” I said. “Any plan can fail, once it meets the enemy. But we can make our victory more certain with planning and training.”

Zekko nodded. “These iron men,” he asked Meris. “They have archers?”

“Some,” she said. “No longbows, not when I fought them at any rate.”

“Greater range than Dothraki horned bow?”

“Less, if I had to say. But I never measured their range.”

Zekko nodded again. “My khal,” he said. “I would raid their camps by night, loose arrows on them, prevent their sleep. The same during the day, make them form to defend, grow tired then as well. We will not kill many, but they will move very slowly”

“That’s good,” I said. “Please make it so. Leave me fifty good dispatch riders on good horses, and a khas of a thousand to screen the crawlers.”

* * *

A fortnight later, I sat my borrowed horse behind our regular infantry, flanked by Meris and Zekko, Calye and my ten Hyrkoon personal guards behind us - I had left my Dothraki guards with Syrio. Grey Worm stood among the foot soldiers, who occupied a hilltop with a long slope facing the approaching Ghiscari, behind a trench backed by an earthen breastwork reinforced by an abatis of sharpened stakes. The training brigades had worked feverishly night and day to prepare the position, while the regulars were spared the exhausting heavy labor.

Zekko’s scouts estimated that the Ghiscari had about 20,000 men, having lost perhaps four thousand along the way. Meris said that would amount to four of their “lockstep legions.” This probably represented their entire field army, according to the prisoners Zekko’s men brought in and I interrogated. The Ghiscari believed Astapor and Yunkai to be caught in chaotic disorder following the visits of my princess, and they planned to restore the Masters to power in each city.

Neither Zekko or Meris had much to say, and I found that I appreciated the silence. We had made our preparations and now only awaited the execution of what I believed to be a solid battle plan. The Ghiscari would break themselves on our field fortifications, and when they had been thoroughly disrupted in their assault, Grey Worm would send his troops forward. Sally ports had been prepared, places where the abatis could be easily removed and bundles of sticks thrown into the trench. When the Ghiscari had lost their formation, Zekko’s riders - split to cover either flank of our position - would ride down the survivors.

“They’re coming,” Meris said as she handed my telescope back to me. “As the scouts said.”

It took about an hour for the legions to deploy from march to battle order. I understood the purpose of the display, to intimidate our men by showing the legions’ order and discipline. Our officers had in turn told them what to expect, and now we could hear our own soldiers laughing and joking. These regiments had not seen action on the Plains of the Jogos Nhai, but most of their officers had. The crossbowmen included only a few Myrish officers, with most of the men Qartheen recruits carrying Qarth-made weapons. Today we would test my new army.

The iron legions stared at us for perhaps fifteen minutes after completing their line, and then at a whistled signal every spear snapped downward as one. Two beats later, their forward march began. And it was an impressive march, each man in step, their shields and spears all held at the same level, none of them visibly wavering.

When they reached one hundred yards from our positions - a range marked off by small flags our labor crews had placed during our preparations - the crossbows began to loose. These weapons had been refurbished with the windlasses used on Myrish weapons but not known in Qarth or Dragon’s Bay. At that range they punched through shields and chainmail and the formation grew ragged. The crossbowmen got off three rounds - much better than musket-armed infantry of my own past could have done - before the legionaries reached the trench.

Dothraki archers added their shafts from the flanks. A horse archer could not carry many arrows, but the projectiles coming from the legions’ unprotected sides bothered the advancing troops and I could see their formation lose a little of its precision.

The Ghiscari archers tried to return their own volleys, and we began to suffer casualties as well. But we could put more shafts into the air, and the Dothraki arrows in particular claimed many of the lightly-protected archers.

Bolts continued to pour into the Ghiscari as they labored up the inward slope of the trench and entered the abatis, which broke up what remained of their formation. Already tired from days of little sleep and their uphill march, many now stumbled, but they came onward. Now the pikemen killed them as bolts continued to tear into the oncoming infantry.

“Brave men,” Zekko said. “They die as easily as any other.”

I saw Grey Worm raise his closed fist, and then drop it sharply. The junior officers repeated the gesture and screamed their orders, and our pikemen surged forward. Zekko turned to his flagbearer.

“Attack.”

As soon as they spotted the red flag, six thousand Dothraki pounded down the slopes on either side of us and crashed into the legions’ wavering flanks. Panic took hold and individual soldiers began to run. The Dothraki ran them down. Small groups formed, trying to organize a retreat, but our pikemen surrounded them and our crossbows hummed.

“It won’t always be so easy,” Meris said. “They had fewer missile troops and no cavalry. Only arrogance.”

“More archers would have delayed the outcome,” I said. “Forced our crossbowmen under shield cover, and inflicted more losses. But once they accepted battle on this ground, they lost. Their line could easily have wrapped around ours in the open.”

“What should they have done?”

“Pulled back, marched around us, forced us to confront them somewhere else. Keep repeating that until we made a mistake and accepted battle on ground favorable to them.”

“Much longer and they’d be starving.”

“Well, yes,” I said. “Amateurs study tactics. Professionals study logistics. We won this battle when we cut their supply lines and denied them forage. What we did today was just the inevitable result of that.”

Meris nodded.

“I suppose,” she growled, “I haven’t learned everything about war.”

“Nor have I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter takes a wife. And a wife.
> 
> Note: Like Meris, medieval soldiers sometimes awoke on a battlefield stripped and left for dead. Just what happened to all those corpses isn’t clear; very few mass graves have been found.


	63. Chapter Forty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris encounters a wildling princess.

Chapter Forty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

The people within the Shadow Tower did not spot us until we had already drawn even with the structure and begun to roll past it. The beautiful golden-haired woman the raven had seen strode quickly out of the tower, bearing a sword in her hand and accompanied by a man in wildling garb and another dressed as a brother of the Night’s Watch. After a few moments the old man from the raven’s visions hobbled slowly out of the heavy doors after them. These were the only inhabitants.

I rode at the front end of our little train, flanked by Beth on my right and Jory to my left. Tansy and Lyra brought up the rear, and rode slowly up the left side of the wagons – the side not facing the castle – to join us. The woman and her companions did not try to block our progress, but she held a great deal of anger within her that I could have detected without the aid of telepathy.

I slid off my mare and stepped forward to face the woman; Lyra and Beth closed up on my left and right flanks, respectively, in the starting positions of the triune style of combat. Tansy and Jory remained behind us. I did not draw my sword; the woman was hostile, but appeared to be a generally angry person rather than one seeking battle. She wore spotless white furs and white leather arranged to show off her full breasts and long legs; I wondered how a woman of her species stayed warm in such a costume and how she kept it so clean without servants to aid her. She was clearly their leader, and stared at us for a long moment in hopes of appearing intimidating before she finally spoke.

“Who the hell are you?” she barked.

I remained silent for a moment, looking at her companions and sampling their thoughts. Both of the men were older than the woman, and neither particularly liked her but they kept their hands on the hilts of their swords, prepared to draw them and fight if she did so first. The elderly man feared that she would start a fight with us, but feared that she would beat him even more. She apparently had physically abused all three men.

“Dejah Thoris, adoptive daughter of House Mormont,” I said. Once the words were spoken, I realized that I had not called myself a Princess of Helium. “My sisters Lyra, Beth, Jory and Tansy ride with me.”

“What do you want here?”

“Nothing.” I said. “We are on our way to the sea.”

“No one goes down to the sea along this road.”

“We do.”

“Val,” the old man said, “ask her for news.”

“Be silent, Denys,” she said. “I’ll handle this.”

“Yes, Val,” he said very meekly.

“It is customary to introduce oneself to strangers,” I said. I decided that if she wished to be hostile, I would kick the knee she had thrust forward toward me, draw my sword while she fell and stab her in the neck or shoulder before she could get up. I would then kill the two men. I put my hand on the back of my head as though to pull on my braid, and extended one finger. The thoughts of Lyra and Beth showed that they understood; I would kill our enemies, they would protect Tansy and Jory.

None of that mattered. The woman decided to talk rather than attack.

“Val,” she said, pounding her fist on her chest. “The one over there and I are the last of the Free Folk. This old man and the other are the last of the crows.”

“That is not true,” I said. “Tormund Giantsbane lives.”

“That’s impossible.”

“He fled from Castle Black to Winterfell with several hundred of the Free Folk. He is my friend.”

“That’s also impossible.”

“He is the father of my adoptive sister Lyra,” I said, nodding to my left. “Her mother is the She-Bear, Maege Mormont.”

Val, the woman, lowered her sword slightly.

“He did say he was husband to a bear. What of Jon Snow?”

“His own men killed him. He rose as the Night’s King and slaughtered the Watch at Castle Black.”

I did not wish to put my sword through this woman’s lovely chest, and so I did not volunteer any more of what happened to Jon Snow. News of his death saddened her; she had been deeply attracted to him and had wished to receive orgasm from him. She must not have known about his deficient sex organ.

“And the Others?” she asked, meaning the odd not-dead creatures also known as White Walkers.

“They appear to have left these lands after their Night’s King died.”

“How did he die?”

“With my sword through his heart,” I answered truthfully as I mentally prepared for her to attack me. Instead she just slumped her shoulders.

“Daughter of the Red Star,” she said, nodding. “You are the Promised One?”

“I am merely a woman travelling home to Bear Island with my sisters.”

She paused, considering whether she should attack me or not, and decided that I would surely kill her in that event. She wondered how she might come to engage in sex with me, but assumed that I already had multiple lovers among my sisters. I found her mind’s imagery of the two of us nude and tangled together rather enticing. She had a vivid imagination, though she imagined doing things to me that were not anatomically possible.

“Once we numbered three hundred in this castle, crows and Free Folk,” she said. “The Others came, and the dead. Not just people: there were bears, wolves and even cats. They killed and they killed and then suddenly they stopped killing. The Others blew into tiny pieces and the dead just dropped where they stood. I suppose that was your doing. We’re all that’s left.”

“You were attacked by not-dead cats?”

“No, they were still alive. The castle’s mouse-catchers turned against us when the dead came. Never seen anything like it. We hunted the little bastards down afterwards.”

“We have extra horses,” I said. “We will give you each a horse and food, and you can ride to Winterfell to join Tormund, or wherever else you would like.”

“You would do this for us?” she asked, suspicious.

“The North is empty of people now, and many horses wander free. It is a simple matter to capture them.”

“What of Castle Black?” the old man asked, cringing away from Val.

“No one lives there,” I said. “Or any other castle we have passed.”

“You wear our colors.”

“Your brothers had no need of these,” Lyra spoke up. “Your watch has ended. Go home.”

Val looked up abruptly and stuck her sword into the soft ground.

“We accept your offer,” she said. “Four horses, one as gentle as you have to mount this old one. A pack horse for food; we have plenty of it here. We’ll join Tormund; the crows can go where they will.”

I turned to Jory.

“Please select the five horses for our friend Val,” I said. And then, still not fully sure of the Free Woman’s intentions, I added, “Beth, please help her.”

“You don’t trust me,” Val instantly perceived.

“I do not know you,” I answered. “You are a very angry woman.”

“True enough,” she said. “You would be too, you’d seen what I have. Would have been easier to just kill us.”

“You are not as unpleasant as you pretend. I do not wish to kill you. And your people need you.”

“To be the Wildling Queen?” She disdainfully recalled Stannis Baratheon calling her such.

“To help lead the Free Folk. Right now, Tormund’s people help guard Winterfell, but soon the kneelers will realize they no longer need them and conflict will arise. You are not servants, or soldiers. There is good land here, empty of people. Choose some and live free.”

“Kneelers, you call them. You do know Tormund.”

“Speaker to Gods.”

“That’s him,” she said. She sighed, and turned to the two men behind her. “Pack enough food for twenty days and load it on the horse the young one picks out. We ride as soon as we’re ready.”

She returned her attention to me.

“Where would you go, were you me?”

“South of Castle Black there is a small castle in the middle of a small lake. It lies in a beautiful valley.”

“I’ll need to steal a man,” she said. “A real one, not one of these. Mayhaps a woman, too.”

We spoke for a while about the battle against the not-dead and signs that the Wall had begun to melt here as well, and then Val went inside the castle to retrieve a small bundle of personal items. I did not particularly like her, but I was glad that I did not have to kill her. She never asked what we had in our wagons, and by her thoughts did not care enough to ask or look. She did enjoy imagining me unclothed, and Tansy, but curiously not any of my other sisters.

“Start the wagons,” I told Lyra. “Jory and I will remain here until they leave. There are ravens in this castle, and I will ask Jory to send messages to Winterfell and Bear Island.”

“You trust the busty blonde beauty?”

“Not entirely,” I said. “Remain alert. We will join you soon.”

She set Beth at the head of the train with Tansy, and watched the end of the wagons herself. My little sister and I stood outside the castle grounds – it had no gates or walls – and awaited Val.

“Couldn’t wait to get started,” she observed. “You must trust us to send the other two sword-bitches away.”

“I am sufficient protection for my little sister.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said. “But the freckled one is truly dangerous.”

“She is but my apprentice.”

“She’s a killer,” Val said. “That’s more important than skill.”

“She carries a great deal of anger.”

“I don’t meet many women with more of it than me.”

Jory handed her the reins of the horse she had selected. Val leapt into the saddle smoothly.

“Southron saddles take some adjusting,” she said. “We’ll see you at Winterfell?”

“Eventually. I owe Longspear Ryk a debt.”

“You plan to steal him, or kill him?”

“Merely thank him,” I said. “He gave me a weapon I used against the Night’s King.”

“Safe journey, Mormonts. And your gold as well.”

She rode off with her three companions. Her thoughts had not betrayed her knowledge of our treasure until her final words. This Val was a dangerous woman.

* * *

I waited with Jory until Val and her companions had ridden out of my telepathic range; her thoughts said she intended to keep riding but as she had kept her knowledge of the gold hidden, I maintained a careful watch for her return. When they were out of sight, Jory and I entered the tumbledown castle. In the chamber known as the “rookery,” where the ravens dwelt, we found only two living birds. Unsure who else might read her notes, Jory wrote carefully-worded messages to her mother and sent one to Bear Island and the other to Winterfell.

We did not remain long in the abandoned castle; while I did not truly expect Val to attack Lyra and our sisters, I remained aware that she might know routes by which she could loop around through the forest and meet the road again. The castle remained littered with corpses; Val and her companions had not bothered to clear them out and burn them. The Shadow Tower had generous stocks of food including cold chambers hacked into the ice of the Wall to preserve fresh meat, and six live chickens apparently kept for their eggs. I had spent over a year on this planet and the barbaric practice of eating eggs still offended me.

Unwilling to leave the place without looting at least something, I stuffed the chickens into a pair of slatted boxes apparently built for that purpose and tied them over my saddle. I rode out with Jory and we overtook the wagons quickly; I detected no signs of Val or anyone else.

The final castle, Westwatch, differed from all of the others we had seen. It did not nestle alongside the icy Wall, but stood separately a short distance to the west of the Wall’s end. It had actual walls and towers, though its poor state of repair revealed several gaping breaches and at least one collapsed tower.

The bridge Jory had mentioned lay between the castle and the end of the Wall. Fortified positions dotted the end of the Wall, stone-faced galleries sunk into the ice where soldiers with bows and crossbows could loose projectiles at anyone crossing the bridge or trying to infiltrate around the base of the Wall. I saw no visible means by which people could access these positions; hidden tunnels and stairs must connect them to the castle and likely to the top of the Wall as well.

There had been a battle on the bridge, as bloodstains and piles of ash attested. At least one of Jon Snow’s tiny garrisons had held its post, and apparently died to the last man to do so. We found very few actual corpses; the not-dead army had overrun this position and moved on before I activated whatever aspect of the Wall had de-activated the nano-technology that, following our encounter with the “magic” gate, I now suspected lay within their otherwise dead bodies.

Jory stood with me at the end of the bridge as I looked down into the gorge named Gorge. The gorge appeared a much more formidable barrier than the Wall, at least as deep as the Wall was high and probably far more difficult to climb. In addition, would-be infiltrators would have to climb twice: down on one side, and up on the other. The end of the Wall stood flush with the edge of the gorge; it would be difficult though not impossible to skirt its edge.

Seeing the bridge did not alter my opinion of its builder’s stupidity, though my disdain eased somewhat as I studied it. The supports underneath the bridge appeared to have been made with the same cast-stone technology I had observed underneath Winterfell and the Nightfort. That made this bridge very old, so perhaps some reason had existed then for its existence. Yet it had been repaired since, probably many times, and included some very rough and almost primitive work featuring badly-fitted stone and even wood.

“Do you think anyone lives over there?” Jory asked.

“I can detect no thoughts,” I said. “But it is possible. From what I had heard, and thoughts I had scanned, I had expected the other side of the Wall to be a wasteland. That is not so. There is a great deal of land no less habitable than that over here.”

“So there will be change,” she said. “New people, new customs, new cultures.”

“If there are no more multi-year winters?” I asked. She nodded. “There should be more people. Children who once would have died in the long winters will now live. All of those new people will want places to settle and grow food.”

“I don’t want Bear Island to change.”

“Change is the only constant, Little Sister. It is up to us, to Maege and our sisters, to make sure that change is for the good.”

“I can’t fight like you or Lyra,” Jory said, “or organize things like Tansy or Alysane.”

“You are the most important of us to House Mormont’s future. You are our conscience.” 

* * *

We stayed in the lone chamber that Jon Snow’s garrison had cleaned and repaired before what we assumed had been their horrific deaths, lonely and unreported at the edge of the world. This fortification, possibly the most important of all those along the Wall, had been allowed to fall into ruin many years before Jon Snow’s ascension to command the Watch.

I explored the fortress – it could not truly be called a castle – along with Jory, while our sisters tended to the horses and prepared Evening Meal. Lyra had devised a cycle of duties for all of us; I paid little attention and simply did as she asked. On this evening, we had no work and could wander at will.

We climbed the walls at one of the points that appeared safe, and from a bastion I looked out over the bridge. I wondered why it had been built here, and if watchers here had once looked upon a matching fortress on the other side that controlled the crossing point. I could not tell, and did not wish to risk our safety on the rickety span across the gorge named Gorge.

Jory pointed out several birds that she named harbingers of spring. I could most definitely feel a change in the weather, even this close to the Wall’s gigantic, looming block of ice.

“We’ll be home soon,” she said. “I can’t wait to see the island again.”

“I am not eager to board a ship.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you fearless.”

“In battle I have no fear,” I said, “because I do not think of the danger. I clear my mind and react as needed. I have had a great deal of time to think about our voyage.”

“We’ll all be with you. I’ll hold your hand the entire way if you like.”

“Thank you. That may be necessary.”

Inside the fortress, Tansy and Beth had plucked the Shadow Tower’s chickens and roasted them along with some potatoes. I ate two of them, and a large portion of potatoes and mushrooms, and felt very satisfied. We even had wine, from a small cask left by the doomed garrison of this place.

Tansy’s raven appeared, asking for corn.

“You shall have corn,” I said, brushing dirt and dust from a stone surface before placing a pile of the dried grain there. “You also have a mission.”

“See!” the raven said. “See! See!”

“That is correct. Follow this road to the sea and determine if a ship awaits us.”

The raven bobbed his head up and down, and also signaled his assent by his thoughts. When he had swallowed all of the corn, he flew out of the one of gaping rents in the walls of the castle keep.

“We are close to the sea?” I asked Jory to confirm my guess.

“The map says so, but like I said, you can’t trust distances on a map. Lyra’s been here.”

“I was still a child,” Lyra said. “Mother brought Dacey and I along, on a delivery of food and cut firewood to the Watch. I only really remember the gorge, how deep it looked. I don’t think it was days away from the landing.”

After eating we sat about a fire and drank some of the wine we had found. In the morning, we conducted our usual exercises. Afterwards I undertook my cleanup duties; Lyra suggested that I simply fling the chicken bones over the side of the gorge so I did so. I also collected the handful of corpses around the end of the bridge and tossed them over the edge as well. As I walked back to the chambers we had selected as our campsite, the raven glided down and landed on a stone block in front of me. He had not been gone long.

“See!” he squawked. “See! See!”

I saw. A ship had tied up alongside a stone landing, and a few men loitered on the well-kept structure. I could not tell if they were of House Mormont or not. They did not appear to be seeking a fight.

I told my sisters, but could not offer enough detail for Lyra and Jory to determine if these were indeed men of House Mormont. I did not know enough about ships to describe the vessel the raven had seen, other than its approximate size and the fact it had two masts. That had seemed important to me, since the slave ship had had but one and _Sweet Cersei_ three, but apparently many ships had two masts.

Jory wished to ride ahead and greet the sailors, but I counseled caution and Lyra agreed. We ate our First Meal hurriedly, and afterwards I rode forward with Jory, leaving Lyra, Beth and Tansy at the slow-moving wagon train with the raven circling watchfully overhead.

The road skirted the edge of the gorge, with a forest to our left. I scanned the trees carefully for hidden enemies, finding none, and eventually picked up the thoughts of a single bored man watching the road. He sat in the open on a large rock, a sword propped casually by his side. Like most men believing themselves alone, he thought of simultaneous sex with several women; I could not pick up any indications of his intentions or loyalties.

He rose when he spotted us, then recognized Jory and ran forward.

“Lady Jorelle!” he cried out. “You’ve made it!”

She hopped off her horse and he wrapped her in an embrace, then faced me and bowed as I dismounted. He had been told that I disliked kneeling.

“Princess,” he greeted me. “Trevan, man at arms to House Mormont. We fought together at Moat Cailin and against the Boltons.”

“I remember,” I said, though he only looked slightly familiar. I drew a memory from his thoughts. “You killed a Bolton knight with an axe, and saved your friend who had been knocked to the ground.”

I felt somewhat shamed for pretending to recall his valor, but it pleased him so much that I decided the half-truth had been justified.

“The ship has arrived?” I asked. Of course it had arrived, else he would not have been sitting next to the road. “That is, when did you arrive?”

“Two days ago. As Lady Jorelle requested, we have Lord Jeor’s horse transport and have rigged tackle to load heavy objects.”

“We have five women, three loaded wagons and thirty-two animals.”

“The ship has but fourteen stalls. The cargo should fit easily.”

“It is very heavy.”

“So Lady Alysanne warned. The sailors are ready to position it safely.”

We walked our horses down to the sea, while Jory peppered Trevan with questions about Bear Island and its people. As I had seen through the raven’s thoughts, the Night’s Watch had built a very solid stone-faced landing, with several well-made storage buildings behind it. The ship had been tied up alongside the landing, and the boom from one of its masts sported a series of ropes and pulleys that Trevan called “block and tackle.”

“The deep water comes right up to the landing,” he explained, seeing me study the ship. “Else she’d ground on the tides and be smashed to bits.”

By tides, he referred to the water rising and falling. We do not have these on Barsoom, as we have no oceans, but I would come to understand that these “tides” were driven by the planet’s large moon. Barsoom’s oceans had had no tides when they still existed.

“Jory!” I heard a high-pitched shout. “Dejah!”

My friend Trisha hurried down the wooden walkway, known as a “gangplank,” connecting the ship to the landing. She embraced Jory and then me. As I had expected, she smelled of flowers.

“I knew you’d take care of her,” she said softly, lingering in the embrace a moment as Jory walked up the gangplank. “And I can’t believe we’re taking you home with us.”

The sailors also knew Jory and greeted her warmly; they had heard tales of my fighting skills and stood somewhat in awe of me. After sharing a meal, I left Jory in Trisha’s care and rode back to the wagon train, arriving as darkness fell. 

* * *

The slow-moving wagons needed two more days to reach the landing. Lyra became more and more excited, anticipating her return home, and I told her to ride ahead. Soon after, Beth moved up from her rear-guard position to guide her horse between mine and Tansy’s.

“The sailors,” she said softly. “All men?”

“Yes,” I said. “My friend Trisha is there as well.”

She breathed loudly, and her shoulders slumped forward.

“You are anxious?” I asked.

“Just because we’re about to be trapped inside a tiny wooden box with a bunch of horny men?”

“Trisha,” Tansy said, “wouldn’t let anyone aboard that ship who might harm Jory.”

“I am anxious as well,” I admitted.

“You?” Beth asked.

“There are no oceans on my planet,” I explained. “And no tides on what small bodies of water we do have. The motion of a ship makes me very sick.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll stay right beside you.”

“It is likely that I will vomit on you.”

“That’s what the buckets of seawater are for.”

“She’s not jesting,” Tansy said. “The slightest motion is all it takes.”

She looked across Beth at me.

“This is a brave thing you’re doing, taking ship for Bear Island.”

She touched Beth’s hand, resting on her saddle’s pommel.

“I know it’s not easy for you, either.”

“Has to be done,” Beth said. “We’ll manage together.” 

* * *

We arrived at mid-day. Jory and Trisha were fine, and happy to see us. I introduced Trisha to Beth, but they had met years before in Winterfell.

The sailors began loading the horses first. They had only fourteen stalls for our twenty-four horses, four oxen and four mules. None of the mules wished to take ship, and only ten of the horses. Most of the others desired to roam free, while a few feared boarding the ship.

I helped the sailors rig the slings around the horses for loading, and kept the animals calm as they were hoisted into the air. I pulled on the ropes when needed, which sped the operation considerably.

I pondered what to do with the oxen. I had promised myself that when we reached the sea, we would slaughter the beasts, roast them and eat them, but now that the moment had arrived, I hesitated. They had come with us a very long way, and though they had been obtuse and stupid, they had served us well and it felt ungenerous to reward them with death.

“We’ve got four stalls left,” the ship’s captain, a dark-bearded and broad-shouldered man named Ran Loodey, told me as I stared at the beasts as stupidly as they stared back at me. “We can winch them in if you want.”

“They will not endanger the ship?”

“Much too stupid for that,” he said. “But useful on the island. Someone will give you a good price for two pair.”

I nodded, and the sailors loaded the oxen aboard. They did not seem to notice the change.

Night fell before we had the last of the gold and other looted items safely stowed away, and we all spent the night in one of the large shelters built by the Night’s Watch. Sharing the room with men bothered Beth, and she slept next to the wall while I lay on her other side. I remained clothed in my Night’s Watch tunic for the sake of the sailors; it stretched below my ass so I took off my leggings.

Late in the night the horses’ distressed thoughts awakened me, and I went to the ship to comfort them. Beth followed me, unwilling to remain in the shelter.

“Lyra is there,” I whispered. “And Trisha. She is your friend as well as mine. You will be safe.”

“I know. I just . . . wanted to come with you.”

“I like having you with me.”

“Me too.”

We went aboard the ship and carefully climbed down into the hold among the horses. I spoke to them and calmed their fears; they did not like the motion of the ship as it rocked against the waves. Neither did I, but having the task of calming the horses seemed to make it easier to endure.

They wished me to stay with them, but this would be my last chance to sleep on solid, unmoving ground for some time. The horses could feel my thoughts from the shelter and I assured them that I would not be far away. They allowed me to sleep until the thoughts of the awakening sailors roused me again.

We ate First Meal, and then it was time to board the ship for good. It had a cabin at the back end, what Ser Davos had taught me to call “aft,” which the captain gave to us. I had been planning to sleep on the straw in my mare’s stall to lend her comfort but Lyra explained that water would run across the decks once the ship entered the open sea. This did nothing to reassure me.

I decided that it might be best if I could not see the moving water, and went to our cabin to begin the voyage. Beth and Trisha remained with me while Tansy, Lyra and Jory stood on deck to watch the ship make its way out of the cove. The sailors used long poles to move the ship away from the landing and then used long oars to turn the ship to face the sea.

“It will help if you sleep,” Beth said. I nodded, and we climbed onto the narrow bed. I placed my head on her shoulder and eventually dozed off.

I awakened to hunger, then immediately felt queasy.

“You need to eat,” Beth said. “Let’s go to the middle of the ship. The motion’s less there.”

The three of us stood at the railing, on the side away from the wind, and Jory brought me several dry biscuits. I felt somewhat better, and on Trisha’s instructions I kept looking at the horizon. That only made me dizzy; the horizon stood at a much greater distance on this planet than my mind said it should. I gave the biscuits to the sea.

And so it went for seeming days on end, though Tansy assured me it was but four of them. The sailors kindly brought a pile of canvas on which I could lay down, and I spent a good deal of time at the center of the ship with my head in the lap of one of my sisters or Trisha. Two of them stayed with me at all times; they feared that only one of them could not hold my weight if I started to fall overboard while vomiting.

Endlessly, the misery wore on. I ate dry biscuits, I heaved them up, I lay on the deck or in the cabin or in a hammock and moaned. My sisters held back my hair, but still it became fouled with my own vomit.

Apparently, my sisters found the voyage very pleasant, when not tending to me. Blue skies dotted with white clouds stood over the blue water. Eventually the misery came toward its end; Lyra told me that we approached Mormont Port on Bear Island, where we would disembark. She had to tell me several times before the knowledge sank into my tortured mind.

“She can’t get off the ship looking like this,” I heard Tansy say. “We have to clean her somehow.”

“We have a trough,” I heard Loodey’s voice say. “An extra, for the horses. We can bring it on deck. She should fit in it.”

“Naked, in front of your crew?”

“I don’t think the sight’s likely to tempt anyone.”

“No,” Tansy’s voice said, “you have the right of that. Have you soap, for her hair?”

“I do. Fairly gentle, too. I’ll fetch it.”

A short while later, Lyra and Tansy pulled off my filthy clothes and urged me into a long vessel filled with cold water. They cleaned me thoroughly and washed my hair, then patted me down with soft towels and dressed me in a fresh set of Night’s Watch black leggings and tunic.

“No more puking,” Tansy said. “This is the last set of clean clothes we have.”

They led me to the captain’s cabin, where I sat on the large, padded seat that stretched across the very aft end of the ship. Beth held my hand, and while I felt queasy I could tell that the ship had entered calmer waters. I patted her hand and tried to smile, but only frightened her with a grimace. I began to feel somewhat better, and chatted with her softly, pleased that I could speak clearly despite my raw throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris arrives on Bear Island.


	64. Chapter Forty-Five (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris dances naked in the moonlight.

Chapter Forty-Five (Dejah Thoris)

I needed help from Tansy and Beth to climb to the main deck. Vaguely, it registered that a clear blue sky stood overhead and our little ship had tied up at a pier. The small harbor was surrounded by tree-covered mountains, with gray cliffs dropping down to the water. All of the green, blue and gray seemed overwhelming, yet even then I knew that I would come to love this stark beauty.

Maege and Alysane stood on the pier with several other people. Lyra and Jory hurried across the plank leading from the ship to greet them. I had not feared the Night’s King or the ice dragon, but I hesitated to cross a tiny stretch of water on a narrow piece of wood. Trisha stood on the opposite side and held out her hands to me, while Beth moved up close behind me with her hands on my waist and walked across with me. Trisha whispered “welcome home” into my ear as I stepped onto the pier.

After hugging and kissing Lyra and Jory, Maege strode forward to embrace me, followed by Alysane.

“You’re well?” Maege asked.

“I survived the voyage,” I croaked. “I have brought you a niece.”

“Beth!” she exclaimed. “I knew Davos had sent you to find Dejah, but you left before I could see you. You are always welcome with your family.”

“My niece fights like a Mormont?” she asked me, seeing Beth’s sword.

“She is my apprentice,” I said. “I am very pleased with her progress.”

“And I suppose I have a surprise for her,” Maege said, gesturing for one of the women behind her to come forward. I recognized Jeyne Poole, formerly Sansa Stark’s lady-in-waiting. She in turn recognized Beth and ran forward to wrap her arms around my apprentice.

Alysane had two children with her, one larger standing beside her and the smaller looking at me shyly from behind his mother.

“These are the children you’ve heard of,” she said. “My son, Jeor, and daughter, Jolie.”

Bending over brought a wave of nausea, so I dropped to my knees to greet the smallest Mormonts.

“I am very pleased to meet you,” I said.

They both giggled. The younger, the boy, tentatively reached out and touched my arm.

“Yes, I am real,” I said. “I hope we will be friends.”

Maege reached down and helped me to my feet.

“I am pleased to meet you as well,” Alysane’s daughter said, performing the “curtsey” move. “Mother has told me a great deal about you. Might I touch the sword Lightbringer?”

I drew my sword and laid it across my arm, with the pommel facing her.

“You may lift it if you wish.”

She carefully picked it up by the hilt, then placed it back across my arm.

“Thank you, Aunt Dejah,” she said. “Might I call you Aunt Dejah?”

“I would like that very much.”

Alysane led the children away. Maege smiled at me, pleased that her grandchildren appeared to like me.

“You brought Jeyne from Winterfell?” I asked her.

“I did. She’s suffered, just like Beth. They grew up together, and I hope it will help them to be reunited. She’s been very helpful bringing order to our accounts, along with another exile I found there. This is Tycho Nestoris, formerly of Braavos.”

A painfully thin man, with an even more painfully thin beard stretching to his waist, stepped forward and bowed. He wore a very odd, tall purple hat stacked in three layers.

“Princess,” he said. “I have heard of your deeds. I am humbled to meet you.”

His thoughts were calculating, weighing the advantage my fighting skills might lend to Bear Island’s defenses. I detected no treachery, but such things are rarely evident when first meeting a new person.

“Lord Tycho is from the Eastern Continent,” Maege explained. “I’m sure you’ll have many questions for him.”

She wished for me to determine his motives and loyalty. She believed that his knowledge of finance could be very useful to my new family, were he trustworthy.

“I represented the Iron Bank of Braavos,” he said. “We use the title ‘lord’ when in Westeros, but truly I was only a minor functionary charged with arranging loans to Stannis Baratheon. Things didn’t work out as planned, and I fear that my former employers may be unhappy with me.”

“They wish to kill you?” I asked.

“Possibly,” he said, smiling at what he considered a blunt question. He had been warned of my penchant for such. “They may not find me on Bear Island, or may not care enough to seek me here.”

Maege introduced me to others as well: a maester named Rolston, the master of the hunt, a very short man with the odd name of Richie, and the master of the horses (this latter person was a woman named Jennifer, but still called “master”), a soldier named Ronis who had led the House Guard while Maege and Alysane were away, and several ship captains. All seemed pleased to meet me, having heard of my fighting skills and my role in ending the threat of the Others.

This was not the case with the final introduction.

“And this is your youngest sister, Lyanna. We call her the Little Bear.”

A young girl, perhaps slightly older than Alysane’s daughter Jolie, stepped forward and made the curtsey motion.

“Welcome to Bear Island, Princess,” she said. “I hope you enjoy your visit.”

The youngest Mormont did not approve of my adoption, or that of my sister Tansy. She hoped that we would leave soon.

“I am sure that I will,” I said. “I already love the mountains and forests. I do not doubt that I will come to love its people as well.”

Young Lyanna tried to hide the hard look she gave Tansy as Maege hugged my sister tightly.

“Do you need to rest?” Tansy asked me.

“I feel better on a deck that does not move,” I said. “But I would not mind sitting. I feel very dizzy.”

“You had perfect weather,” the youngest Mormont said, very primly. “And it is a very short sea voyage.”

“Come,” Tansy said, taking my arm. “Maege said they have tables set up at the base of the pier, with food and drink for a brief welcome.”

“She is Lady Mormont,” Lyanna corrected.

“Why, yes she is,” Tansy said, smiling. “A lady of manners and breeding.”

She pulled me along, leaving the child to splutter. Lyra appeared at my other arm.

“You’re not going to puke, are you?” she asked, very concerned.

“Do I look as though I might?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Stay with me and I will be fine. I simply cannot walk correctly.”

Between them, my sisters maneuvered me to one of the heavy wooden benches awaiting us. I sat with my back to the table to keep the food out of my sight, and stared down at the small rocks known as “gravel” between my feet. Their lack of motion comforted me, as did the warmth of my sisters’ thighs pressed against mine on either side.

Jory brought me tea made from crushed flowers, which made me feel somewhat better. I felt pangs of guilt that the islanders had prepared a feast to greet me and I could not participate, but their thoughts showed that almost all had great sympathy for my seasickness – tales of my deeds on behalf of House Mormont had already spread well before our arrival. Several soldiers who had fought at Moat Cailin or against the Bolton-Ryswell army came to greet me and welcome me to their home, and Trisha brought still more to meet me for the first time.

The soldiers came back around after Maege described how I had returned the sword Longclaw to House Mormont. They thanked me, some of them tearfully, and I realized that the sword had enormous symbolic meaning to them. Many resented Jeor Mormont for giving away this symbol of their house, and by restoring it I became a hero to them, as did Lyra for wielding it.

Eventually the party ended and Maege directed everyone – about forty people, I guessed, including the crew of the ship – to return to the Keep. She sat across from me, flanked by Alysane and Jory, and called to Beth to join us.

“You’re able to speak now?” Maege asked me.

“I believe so. You have a place for the gold?”

“We’re ready,” Alysane said. “Just how much did you loot?”

“I have not counted it,” I said. “But judging by its weight I would say between four hundred fifty and five hundred thousand of the gold coins known as dragons.”

She stared at me, unable to speak.

“That’s . . . more than all of Bear Island is worth. Several times over.”

“That is what Lyra said.”

“You’ve either secured our future for all time,” Maege said. “Or damned us to eternal raiding by thieves come looking for that gold.”

“You would prefer we had left it?”

“No,” Maege said. “I’ve come around to your way of thinking. Someone was going to get hold of it, and that someone might as well wear a bear on her chest.

“Don’t mention the gold to anyone not at this table. Anyone. And you six girls are responsible for moving it into the vaults. I want complete secrecy.”

“I understand,” I said. “And I agree with your caution. I do not mind the work, but I will need to walk normally first.”

“We have mules,” Jory said. “The rest of us can help far more than we could on the road.”

“Does anyone know you took the gold?” Maege asked.

“A woman of the Free Folk named Val,” I said, “who we met at the Shadow Tower. She mentioned it as she rode off, the first sign she had given that she had guessed our cargo. I considered chasing her down and killing her but decided to allow her to live.”

“That was the right choice,” Maege said. “No one will trust her word, so at best it will become rumor. Does anyone else know?”

“I do not think so,” I said. “No living person remained in the Dreadfort. We burned it to the ground.”

“You burned the Dreadfort?” Alysane asked.

“It was not difficult,” I said. “Everyone there was dead and did not resist. We piled wood in the buildings, soaked it in lamp oil and threw torches inside. And now the Dreadfort is a burned ruin.”

“Why?” Alysane prodded.

“It seemed prudent,” I said, “to hide our theft.”

“No,” Beth spoke up from her place at the end of the table. “You don’t have to cover for me.”

“It did hide our theft,” I insisted.

“It did,” she agreed. “But that wasn’t the only reason.”

She splayed her fingers across the table and stared at them for a few moments, gathering her thoughts.

“I was a prisoner at the Dreadfort,” she began, continuing to stare at her fingers. “Theon Greyjoy took Winterfell and he took me. Threw me down on the courtyard with his knife at my throat and raped me while his men watched. Then he threw me in Winterfell’s cells. The Boltons took me to the Dreadfort and raped me, and sold me to slavers.

“They did worse. I was tortured in the Dreadfort. I knew nothing of any value, but they never asked any questions. Ramsay Bolton enjoyed hearing me scream. He was always careful to keep me pretty, to never hurt my face or my breasts or . . . my other parts.”

She stopped and breathed heavily. No one else spoke.

“Lyra, Jory . . . Dejah and Tansy, too. They say I’m a Mormont, that I’m part of your family. I don’t deserve that, and I don’t deserve them. They burned the Dreadfort for me, because I asked them to. And that’s the real reason.”

“You’re all I have left of my little sister,” Maege said. “I lost one Beth. It’s a blessing to have another back.”

Maege stood and walked to where Beth sat. She drew the younger woman to her feet and wrapped her arms around her.

“You are my daughter now, just as those I birthed and those I adopted. We share the same blood. Share our home as well.”

Beth cried into Maege’s fur cloak, sobs wracking her body. Maege looked at me.

“Thank you for bringing her home,” she said. “I think it’s time you saw it.”

* * *

I still wobbled when I tried to walk; I felt less awkward when I saw that Tansy and Beth had trouble adjusting to solid ground as well. Lyra and Jory seemed unaffected. A gravel-covered roadway led up to Mormont Keep, which I discovered consisted of an earthen embankment topped by a palisade of heavy logs. Watchtowers dotted the walls, and the heavy main gate sported a well-made carving of a warrior woman holding an axe in one hand and a hatchling in the other. Stables, workshops and barracks lined the inside of the wall. At the center lay a courtyard in front of a large wooden building, with a massive open hall on its ground floor and several stories above it.

Wide stairs led to the second floor, with another set going upward at a right angle from its top to the third, a much smaller structure which housed Maege’s chambers and her office, here as on the mainland called a “solar,” and a private dining hall for the immediate family.

Most family members were housed on the second floor. Maege led us into a large, fairly open chamber along the left side of Mormont Keep. It had very fine-grained and polished wood-paneled walls, bare except for a single tapestry showing a bear catching a fish, a large heavy wooden table with chairs, and a large bed without a canopy.

“This chamber last belonged to my nephew Jorah’s pampered wife,” she said. “The furniture, clothing and other fixtures were sold off over the years. We can find replacements for you.”

I walked out onto the wide wooden balcony. It overlooked a deep, narrow bay heading into the nearby mountainside. Sheer gray walls of stone fell away to bluish-gray water below. Atop the cliffs were forests of tall green trees with needle-shaped leaves. I could see that large birds had found nooks in the rock face in which they had built their nests. All of the colors still seemed so strange, yet beautiful.

Maege, Tansy and Beth joined me.

“The smaller room off to the side?” Beth asked. “Might I have it?”

“Of course,” Maege said, smiling. “Keep the apprentice close to the master. Lynesse, Jorah’s unbearable wife, had that fitted for the handmaiden she never managed to keep for long because of her screeching.”

“That was for a servant? It’s bigger than my family’s chambers in Winterfell, and it has a canopied bed and its own balcony!”

“We’re not wealthy here,” Maege said. “But we do have space, so we try to enjoy what we do have.”

“We’ve just spent months sleeping on rocks,” Tansy said. “This is wonderful. We can’t thank you enough.”

Tansy and I had acquired very few belongings: some Night’s Watch black clothing, simple brown dresses, my fighting harness and my weapons. Beth had no more than that. Moving into our new home proved very easy.

Very tired, I peeled off my clothing and fell into the bed as soon as Maege left us. I vaguely noticed that someone had already altered it to resemble the fashion of Barsoom, replacing the mattress with a box filled with furs. I awoke briefly to find that Beth had joined us and snuggled next to me, disturbed by some dream. I smiled as I returned to sleep; only those who love us, even if they fear to say so aloud, fail to alert our telepathic senses.

In the morning, there was bacon but no coffee. We ate with our sisters in Maege’s private dining room. Lyra explained that normally we would eat in the Great Hall on the first floor with the soldiers and servants. The Mormont Way was far different than that of mainland Westeros, or of my own planet, but I did not mind. The old Dejah Thoris would have minded very much.

First Meal included flat cakes made from “buckwheat,” which was not wheat, a grain of this planet, but rather the seeds of a weed. One coated the dark cakes with the disgusting but tasty substance known as butter and poured a sweet syrup tapped from trees over them. I had not eaten a true meal since feasting on roasted chicken in the ruins of Westwatch, and consumed several platters filled with the cakes.

“Do you plan to continue training my newest daughter?” Maege asked as I finished.

“Yes,” I said. “Usually we perform exercises as soon as we awaken, and then work with practice swords or some other drills before First Meal. I have been working with Lyra as well. We have worked mostly with the sword, but also the stave, the spear and hand-to-hand. And we have worked together in the triple style of combat practiced in my lands.”

I did not mention my work with Jory; I did not wish to encourage Maege to commit my little sister to battle.

“Lyra has been fully trained by House Mormont’s master at arms,” Lyanna interjected.

“No one,” Lyra said, smiling at her youngest sister, “is ever fully trained, Little Bear. I’ve learned a great deal just working with Dejah during our trek across the North.

“No other House, great or small, is served by three swords of Valyrian steel. If I wish to be worthy to wield Longclaw, I have to earn the right through hard work.”

“You are the only daughter of House Mormont with such a sword.”

“Lyanna,” Maege said, very formally. “I am the Lady of House Mormont, and I have spoken. Dejah, Beth and Tansy are my adoptive daughters. You will not question my will again.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Now, Dejah,” Maege shifted to a much lighter tone. “Are you well enough to see more of the island?”

“I believe so.”

“That’s good. You know that all Mormonts work. But we also play. You, Beth and Tansy should get to know the Keep and the town. See your new home. If you wish it to be so.”

She paused and thought for a moment.

“I only asked that you visit. You can leave whenever you wish. It’s not as though we could stop you, but I would not keep you here through any sort of chain, one of emotion or one of iron.”

“I love my new family,” I said, a phrase I found myself using often.

“And we love you. But you need not stay if you do not wish it. That’s true for Tansy and for Beth as well.”

“I won’t be separated from my sister,” Tansy said yet again.

“I stay or go with Dejah,” Beth said. “Please don’t think me ungrateful.”

“I have made my choice,” I said. “I will not be separated from my sisters. Any of them.”

The Little Bear wished to object, but remained silent under her mother’s glare.

“I wish to see all of the things Jory spoke of on our journey,” I said. “And help with the work of Bear Island.”

“That’s what I’d hoped to hear,” Maege said. “I would like you to take a full role as a daughter of House Mormont, as is your right and your duty.”

“That is why I am here.”

“Dejah,” Maege said, “I’ve discussed this with Alysane. If you’re willing, we’d like you to take over command of the House Guard from her. You would be responsible for their training, their maintenance, and you would lead them in battle.”

“If it is your wish, I will do so.”

“It’s my wish,” Maege said. “It’s not a large command. Alysane took 62 men and women to the mainland. We brought back 45 from Greywater Watch, and there were 44 here on the island. Of those, some are due to be released from service. You’ll have between 100 and 120 soldiers.”

The Little Bear looked on sourly, but said nothing.

“I still have to speak with Tansy,” Maege said. “She has a role to play here, too. Lyra will be your second, and Beth will serve whatever role you designate.”

“And Alysane?” I asked, unwilling to usurp my newest sister’s place.

“I’ve had enough of soldiering,” Alysane said. “There’s all manner of work that needs doing, to bring the island back where it belongs. I’d rather be with my children. And your hands are far better for this task than mine.”

“I will do my best to keep all of you safe,” I said. “As I have kept my sister Tansy safe.”

* * *

While Tansy spent much of the days that followed in close consultation with Maege, Beth and I joined our sisters in securing the treasure. Like other castles of Westeros, Mormont Keep sat atop deep caverns excavated in the rock below to hold food and other winter supplies. Alysane had directed workers to dig a trench in the floor of the lowest level, but had not told them why. We Mormont women were not enough to handle the transfer ourselves and so we added help from Jarack, Trevan, Marsden and Trisha. Ran Loodey rigged the block and tackle. All five of them were completely devoted to House Mormont and could be thoroughly trusted.

Over several nights we carried the gold and treasure into the vaults. I did most of the lifting, but Jory had wrangled several mules to assist in carrying the heavy chests. When all of the chests had been deposited where Alysane indicated, we sealed the trench shut with stones and mortar. When that task had been completed, we covered the fresh mortar with dirt and dust, and arranged shelves over it as well. This seemed excessive to me; should anyone be searching the lowest level of Mormont Keep it would mean that all Mormonts, myself included, had fallen in its defense. But I went along with Alysane’s provisions, as they seemed to ease her anxiety over taking custody of so much gold.

The gold from the Night’s Watch remained in Maege’s chambers; Tansy figured it would be more than sufficient for the island’s immediate needs. We had taken an enormous amount of money from the Dreadfort, more than fifteen tons of gold by these peoples’ measurements. It represented vastly more value in this primitive society than it would have on Barsoom or even on Dirt, since this planet could offer so little to buy and so much trade and even taxation was in kind. 

* * *

“You’re a fighting woman of Bear Island now,” Maege told me as we met alone over First Meal. “That means something. You’re a Shield Maiden now, or you soon will be.”

“You have a ritual,” I said.

“We do,” she said. “A secret ritual. We’ll ride for the sacred grove tomorrow morning, all of the initiated among the garrison, and those veterans living in and around the Keep and Port who’re up to it.”

“My sisters as well?”

“Lyra and Alysane are Shield Maidens. They’ve fought and killed, to defend our people and our House. Jory hasn’t, not yet. Beth’s killed a man in battle; she’ll be initiated as well.”

“What must I do?”

“Salna heads the order,” Maege said, “not me. She’s approved a sponsor for you, I don’t know who it was. Your sponsor is the one who’ll teach you what you must know. Don’t discuss anything about the initiation with anyone.”

I met my sponsor early the next morning, when Trisha entered the stall where I brushed my mare. I expected her, knowing that Maege and the other women warriors had left the night before.

“Dejah Thoris,” she said, speaking very formally. “I have chosen you.”

“I am honored,” I said, invoking the phrase Maege had taught me. Trisha kissed my cheek, as the ritual demanded.

“Saddle your horse,” she said. “We ride.”

I had not finished when Beth entered the stable and began to prepare her own horse.

“Who’s your sponsor?” she whispered when she brushed against me as if my accident.

“Trisha,” I whispered back. “And yours?”

“Lyra.”

* * *

The four of us rode silently out of the Keep and eastward across a series of mountain trails, through rugged lands with few inhabitants other than sheep. A large number of horses had recently passed, and I assumed that these had been the Shield Maidens.

We finally halted as the day drew to a close; Trisha curtly told us to remain silent. I could hear the ocean waves in the distance. Lyra left us while we took off our horses’ saddles and tack, and tied them on lines with many other horses. The horses told me they had been there most of the day, and all had been ridden by women.

When Lyra returned, bearing a torch, full darkness had fallen. At her direction we removed all of our clothing and, naked, followed her through the trees in single file to emerge in a large clearing overlooking the ocean. A huge white tree with red leaves, one of those worshipped by the Northern people, dominated the clearing. A fire lit the tree and the clearing, where between 40 and 50 women stood silently.

A white cow stood before the tree, and Trisha gestured for the four of us to stand around it. She held a large knife and in a clear and strong voice, she listed my accomplishments in battle since encountering the Mormonts: the battles at Moat Cailin and against the Ryswells, my fights with Lyn Corbray and the Night’s King, the destruction of the slave ship and its crew. When she finished, she stepped forward and challenged anyone who denied me a place as a Shield-Maiden to fight her. No one spoke against her.

She handed the knife to Lyra, who stepped into her place and told of Beth’s fights against the slavers on the road to the Dreadfort and on their ship. She repeated the challenge, to again be met by silence, and handed the knife back to Trisha.

Trisha drew the knife across the cow’s throat, calling out a supplication to the tree gods. She dipped her hands into the warm flow and blood and marked each side of my face, and then placed a handprint over each of my breasts. As she prompted, I did the same to her. On the other side of the dying cow, Lyra and Beth did the same to one another.

Next Trisha led me to the tree where she pressed my back against it and kissed me, very deeply. Surprised, and aroused, I fully returned it. While I did so, Alysane approached with a heated piece of iron and pressed it against my left shoulder. I felt and smelled the flesh burn, but having felt her intent in her thoughts I made sure not to flinch, continuing to dance my tongue along Trisha’s. She finally broke away and whispered, “Welcome, sister.”

She took my hand and led me a short distance away, where we watched Lyra and Beth repeat the same ritual. Seeing them kiss deeply aroused me even more than had Trisha’s kiss; while I liked Trisha very much, I did not lust for her as I did my adoptive sisters Tansy, Lyra and Beth. I had surprised Trisha with the intensity of my kiss, and as I did not wish her to feel uncomfortable with me, I resolved not to repeat it.

On Trisha’s signal, a pair of women I did not know began beating heavy drums, and the rest of the Shield Maidens stripped off their clothing and joined us in dancing under the light of the moon. Unlike the sedate Westerosi dances Lyra had shown me, this dance was a wild and primitive outpouring of joy and power more like those of Barsoom.

When we tired of dancing we walked to the beach, where many animal skins filled with wine awaited us. For hours we lay about on the sand, drinking wine, eating roasted meat from the sacrificial cow, and laughing. As the first glimmers of sunlight began to glow in the eastern sky, Salna and Maege began to rouse us. Trisha took my hand and led me to the water. The brand on my upper arm no longer burned as fiercely; the wine had surely helped.

As the sun rose, the Shield-Maidens stood knee-deep in the ocean and chanted a greeting in an old language, one I did not speak. I mouthed the words Trisha had taught me; when the song had ended, she kissed me very gently on my lips and we washed the now-dried blood off of each other.

On the beach, Lyra held a round shield, with a picture of a bear on it. This was now mine, a symbol of my new status. I was now a fighting woman of Bear Island. I took it from her hands and she kissed me as well, followed by each of the Shield-Maidens.

* * *

I rode back to Mormont Keep feeling a change within me. As a princess, I had always been apart from others, even the soldiers - men or women - who fought alongside me. I had longed for belonging since my days as a hatchling, when I was taken from the creche to be raised separately, as befits a princess royal. And suddenly, it had been thrust upon me.

“You don’t smile often,” Trisha said as she rode alongside me. “I hope you’re not expecting more of . . . that.”

“No,” I said. “You are my subordinate, even if you are my friend. But it is not your way.”

“Good,” she said, nodding. She had learned to speak with me in a direct manner. “So why _are_ you smiling?”

“I was born to privilege,” I said. “More than you can imagine. This,” I rubbed my shoulder, which still stung from the burning brand, “this is something I earned by my deeds, not my status.”

“It matches mine,” she said. “That makes me proud and happy, too.”

We returned to the Keep after dark, and I found Tansy drinking ale before the fire in our chambers. Beth had not yet arrived, having stopped to help put away the drums and other ritual items. I placed my new shield on our table, alongside my sword. In the morning I would find a peg by which to hang it on the wall.

“You’re back,” Tansy said. “And you look . . . satisfied.”

“I am,” I said, shrugging off my Mormont black tunic and sitting on her right side, so my new brand would be visible. Tansy pretended not to notice it.

“You have missed us?” I asked.

“Were you gone?”

“Yes, for two whole days and one whole night. Beth was gone also. And Maege, Lyra and Alysane.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed. “I didn’t notice.”

“All of the warrior women were gone. Including those retired from the House Guard.”

“Truly? I was so busy catching up the account ledgers, I never noticed.”

She looked at me without expression, but then the corner of her mouth twitched and she burst into laughter.

“You have a secret you can’t wait to tell. So out with it.”

“I am now a Shield Maiden of Bear Island, initiated in a secret rite on a beach in front of a white god-tree. I am sworn to fight and die for House Mormont, and to never sully its honor. We ate roasted cow and danced naked in the moonlight.”

“You must have liked that last part.”

“I did,” I said. “This is our place now, sister. We have found our home.”

“I know,” she said. “I don’t need a brand on my flesh to feel it.

I did not tell her that I had kissed Trisha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris still can't swim.


	65. Chapter Forty-Six (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris takes a bath.

Chapter Forty-Six (Dejah Thoris)

On the day after the Shield Maiden ritual, I met with Alysane in the Guard commander’s office, now my office, to discuss my new assignment. After releasing men and women who had completed their agreed term and wished to return home, I would have 102 soldiers in addition to myself, Lyra and Beth.

“They’re good soldiers,” Alysane said. “But they’ve been through a lot. You’ve already seen some of them fight. Do you have any in mind to name as officers?”

“Trisha,” I said instantly. “And Marsden.”

“Good choices,” she said. “I’d suggest Ronis as well. He’s older, a sober personality, and probably expected Mother to name him as my second. He led the troops left behind when I went to the mainland, and he’s the only permanent officer still with the Guard.”

“I will speak with him,” I said. “And keep your recommendation in mind.”

“So you’ll judge for yourself,” Aly smiled. “That’s good.”

“Will they resent me?”

“You brought back Longclaw,” Alysane said. “The troops who saw you fight have already made you a legend. Trisha worships you, hells, all the Shield Maidens do. If anyone becomes a problem, tell me and we’ll find work for them elsewhere.

“Once you’re used to your troops, you’ll want a steward. Jeyne’s been handling payroll and such, but it’s a surprisingly large burden and she has more than enough work managing the Keep. We lost our steward at the Red Wedding, where he should never have been to start with.”

“What are a steward’s duties?”

“The Guard’s steward keeps the troops paid, keeps track of levy service, makes sure everyone’s fed properly, issued with blankets and boots and whatnot, and knows exactly what that whatnot entails. He or she keeps your armor and weapons, looks after your personal needs, and in battle will help write orders and stay by your side.”

“What will you do?” I asked. “After leaving this post?”

“Now that I’m not a soldier? Mother wishes Tansy to serve as her Hand, Jeyne as steward of the Keep and Tycho as lord of finances. I’m the heir, which means I stay by Mother’s side and assist her in all things. I’ll write a great many letters and sit as judge in a great many cases.”

“You would not rather command the Guard?”

“I did what was necessary. But I’m a mother, not a warrior. My children need me. I hated leaving them, and I won’t do it again willingly.”

She rose.

“If you’re ready, you should meet your officers first, then your troops.”

The commander’s office occupied the upper floor of one of the four barracks within the Keep. No troops currently lived below, as the Guard had been far larger before the wars. We found Ronis inspecting the guard posts on the Keep’s walls, and Alysane called him into one of the currently vacant watch towers.

I had met Ronis when we landed from the ship. He was of middle age, with the partial baldness that the men of these people suffer as they grow older, with some gray flecks in his remaining orange-yellow hair. He was slightly shorter than I but much broader across the shoulders, with the relaxed attitude of a veteran soldier.

“Rumor was way ahead of you,” he said after Alysane told him of my appointment. “I’ll assist you however I can.”

He was sincere, which decided me.

“I will name Trisha and Marsden as my second and third officers,” I said. “I would like you to serve as my first.”

“It’s an honor,” he said, as we exchanged the ritual grasping of forearms. “I’ll be glad to draw my sword with you, much as I hope we never do.”

“I understand,” I said. “We will train very hard.”

“Good,” he nodded. “The Old Bear loved to say that sweat saves blood. Or so they tell me.”

* * *

The oxen we had brought to Bear Island had decided that they belonged to me, and refused to go anywhere unless I led them there. Sometimes they would accept guidance from one of my sisters, but not always.

I felt guilt that I had wished to eat them, and frustration that they would not go to a nearby farm. The foreman of the sawmill in Mormont Port said he could put them to work, and the oxen finally accepted that this was close enough to the Keep. They dragged large dead trees from the sheds where the wood spent many months becoming “seasoned” before being cut into lumber for use in building.

My mare loved the island, loved her new stall, and loved her new horse friends. She despised the usual groom, a fat and fairly stupid woman named Brittany, and I preferred to care for my mount myself as did Beth. As both I and my mare had adjusted to walking on dry land again, Jory took me riding into the hills behind Mormont Keep. Beth came as well.

“I did not know that you loved riding,” I told Beth as we tacked up our horses in Mormont Keep’s clean and airy stable. I knew that Brittany often neglected shoveling out the stalls, but a team of my soldiers had done so that morning.

“I didn’t,” Beth answered. “I had to learn as a child, but never liked it even if it could have been worse. At least Northern ladies ride astride instead of sidesaddle.”

Tansy had demonstrated for me the strange, uncomfortable riding style of Southern upper-caste women, soon after we had first met.

“What changed?”

“Three months of riding with you across the North,” she said, smiling. “It’s . . . peaceful, I guess is the word. The rhythm, the feel of the horse’s power under you. Just feeling the connection to the horse.

“I never liked riding lessons. They were so formal, and took the fun out of it. Well, actually, I never saw the fun to begin with. And it’s been good to see this old horse come back to life, too. I guess he and I have a lot in common.”

She patted the horse, the same old animal she had ridden into Castle Black when I first met her. He had regained some weight, and his coat looked much better than it had. He was still an old horse, but Beth loved him very much and he returned her affection.

We saddled up, and joined Jory in front of Mormont Keep. We sat our horses as she explained what lay in front of us.

“This is the largest town on the island,” she said, indicating the buildings clustered around the small port. “It’s called Mormont Port, because we have no imagination.”

She looked at me and smiled. I nodded, accepting the critique of my attitude.

“It services the fishing fleet, mostly,” Jory said. “There’s a lot of fish drying going on, fishing boat repair, that sort of thing. There are a couple of taverns, two inns and the island’s only whorehouse. As far as I know, anyway.”

“Who governs the town?” I asked.

“An elected council, but the lord or lady of the island can overrule them.”

This was the first I had heard of such here; John Carter’s Virginia had elections, what he called “democracy,” meaning “the will of the people,” but made sure that only those who would support the current regime had the so-called “right to vote.” My own city of Helium dispensed with such charades, openly and honestly ignoring the will of the governed.

“Is this common in Westeros?”

“I don’t know. I’d always assumed it was that way everywhere else, too.”

As with all towns and cities of Westeros, a waft of shit and smoke came on the breeze from Mormont Port, flavored with the smell of dead fish. I had almost become used to this, despite my fastidious nature. I wondered if I should teach them about sewers and sanitation, but I did not wish to preach to the inhabitants of my new home.

Jory led us up a path that wound behind the keep and into the forested hills behind. Whoever had built the Keep had sited it very carefully; despite appearing to be nestled among the hills, none of them actually provided a view over the walls. A siege of the Keep would be a very difficult proposition. I did not intend that any enemy have the opportunity to even approach our wooden castle.

Once we reached the hilltop, the wind off the ocean whipped at my hair, and my skin could feel the slight sting of the salt it carried. I had become more used to wearing as much clothing as my body heat could tolerate, and had donned a black Night’s Watch tunic with its arms cut off and leather-reinforced black leggings for our ride. Beth had dressed similarly; Jory wore the simple brownish leather and wool clothing of most Bear Islanders.

I loved the smell of the ocean; Barsoom had nothing to compare with it. I loved the wind. I loved my sisters. Needing to release my joy somehow, I tilted my head back and screamed.

“Something wrong?” Beth asked, amused. Jory simply stared at me.

“I love this place,” I said. “I could not contain my excitement.”

“There’s more,” Jory said. “Let’s ride.”

We rode down a path covered in the brown needle-like leaves fallen from the trees. Unlike the trees along the road to the Dreadfort or north of the Wall, these trees seemed happy and did not resent our presence. A light mist lay on the ground; the trees were only loosely spaced with little undergrowth so we could see for some distance through them.

The path led upward for most of its distance, and after several of what these people term “hours” we emerged into a wide mountainside meadow with a small lake. The sun was at its peak, shining brightly on us. From the meadow one could see as far as the sea; Mormont Keep and the town looked like tiny models. Fishing boats dotted the water beyond the surf. I found the view exhilarating.

“Come,” Jory said. “Off with your clothes.”

I gladly stripped off my tunic and leggings; Beth hesitated at first but did so as well. Then it was my turn to waver, as Jory plunged into the lake head-first and began to swim across it.

“You don’t swim,” Beth asked, “do you?”

“Standing water is rare on my planet,” I said. “I cannot swim.”

“Are you afraid of the water?”

“Yes.”

“Give me your hand. We’ll walk slowly into the water, together.”

We stepped into the cold water, and walked into it until it reached my waist.

“Now,” Beth said. “Bend your knees and lean forward. I’ll keep hold of you. You’ll be fine.”

I did as she instructed, and promptly sank into the water, pulling Beth under with me. I panicked and began flailing my arms, striking Beth just under her knees and flipping her over.

Jory apparently raced back across the lake, and together with Beth pulled my head above the water.

“What happened?” she asked Beth.

“I had the bright idea to teach her to swim,” she said. “I didn’t realize she doesn’t float.”

“Doesn’t float?”

“Went right to the bottom, just like a rock. No wonder she’s so heavy.”

With my arms draped around their shoulders, I made it back to the edge of the lake. I sprawled on the meadow grasses, looking up at the blue sky and periodically coughing up water.

Beth threw herself down next to me. A flash of her thoughts revealed deep concern.

“That was a truly stupid idea,” she said. “You were having such a wonderful day and I ruined it for you.”

“The day is not ruined,” I said. “It remains wonderful. Did I injure you?”

“Some bruises. Nothing you haven’t done before.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. We have food and wine.”

Jory spread out a small blanket and laid on it fresh bread, roasted chickens and three skins of wine. I soon became happy again, and enjoyed looking out over the island and sea while eating and drinking.

“How large is the island?” I asked.

“Larger than you’d think,” Jory said. “This is just one part of it. I’d guess it takes ten days to ride around it by the coastal road. The road cuts off some of the peninsulas and points.”

“Is all of it like this?”

“Most of it. There’s more open ground here on the south shore, where the mountain shields it from the winds off the Frozen Shore. There’s farming here, sheep-raising and such. On the north shore it’s almost all forest.”

“Just one mountain?” I asked.

“Yes, but it’s very large.”

I looked down again at the slopes heading to the sea, and at those above us. I had seen such formations before, on the Sacred Mountains of Barsoom. Bear Island was not simply a mountain; it was a massive volcano rising from the floor of the sea.

Small insects Jory called “skeeters” bit both of my sisters, causing them to slap at them and curse. A few stuck their long sharp snouts into my flesh and then promptly dropped dead upon tasting my blue blood. It was no more than they deserved.

“Are there bears?” Beth asked.

“Yes,” Jory said. “I’d normally bring one or more of my dogs with me; they can smell the bears a long way off. Jeyne said I should keep them away from you.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “I know you love them. Ramsay Snow hunted us with dogs. They play a starring role in my nightmares.”

Jory nodded.

“I didn’t mean to remind you.”

“Dogs are everywhere,” Beth said. “I can’t very well wish them all away. I’d just rather avoid them.”

“I can detect bears,” I said, wishing the change the subject away from dogs. “At least I think so. My people developed telepathy to detect predators.”

“We really should have brought a bear-spear to come up here,” Jory said, “but I figured you two and your swords were protection enough.”

“What is a bear spear?” I asked.

“There are a few racked in the main hall,” Jory said. “And more in the armory. You’ve probably seen them. They’re heavy, and have a larger, wider head than the usual spear, and a cross-piece underneath it to keep the bear from climbing the shaft.”

“Climbing the shaft?”

“A bear’s pretty angry at all times, but they become even more so if you stab them. They’ll pull the spear right through their body so they can get you within reach of their claws.”

She pantomimed being stabbed with a spear, and pulling herself toward the hunter. The idea of Jory being speared made me distinctly uncomfortable.

“What causes them to attack?”

“Usually to protect their young. If their cubs are anywhere near, the females will attack. The males attack for the sheer joy of it.”

“An animal that kills for pleasure?”

“Only one I know of,” Jory said, “other than people.”

“And cats,” I added.

“Them, too.”

Barsoom’s wilds teemed with deadly animals that killed for sport. Most predators here seemed to do so for food or defense only, though that did not mean they were not dangerous.

As we rode back, I telepathically scanned the forest for signs of bears. I detected none, either benign or hostile. 

* * *

On the next day Lyra led me up the mountainside, this time on foot.

“You are going to love this,” she said. “You may never wish to leave.”

A path led through the trees known as “pines” to a lovely wooden building with steam rising above it. It had decorative trim along the edge of its roof, and a wide set of double doors facing the path.

“This,” Lyra said, “is the famed Mormont bath house. With steam sauna and endless hot water. I promised to show it to you.”

“Famed?”

“In the North, anyway,” she said. “And on even-numbered days, it’s women only.”

“The men have it on odd-numbered days?”

“That’s right. No mixing of the sexes when we’re naked. Not like Barstool, is it?”

“Barsoom. No. We are usually naked, both men and women together.”

“Well, you can be naked here,” Lyra said. “Put your clothes in one of these spaces, and we’ll start in the sauna. You’ll want a towel as well.”

I pulled off the brown dress I wore, folded it somewhat sloppily and put it on one of the wooden shelves that lined the walls of the entry hall. Lyra did the same, though unlike me she wore the white long tunic known as a “shift” under her dress. I watched her when I could tell she was not looking at me; I had not lost my unrequited attraction for my adoptive sister.

We each took a large, soft towel from the stack next to one of the doors leading deeper into the building. I wrapped mine around myself to hide the fact that I lacked the “navel” common to people of this world; my groin area was covered in hair, like those of women of this world, and was not noticeably different from theirs except under close inspection.

Lyra pushed the heavy door open; it had cloth edges to seal it when closed. Inside was a small room with a bench running completely around its walls. In the center stood a square table-like structure, with a fire underneath it and a tray filled with rocks above. A bucket of water with a ladle stood nearby. Lyra dipped it into the water and spread the liquid over the hot rocks, causing steam to rise from them,

Two women sprawled on the benches: the master of horses, a red-haired woman named Jennifer, now red-skinned as well, and Salna from the House Guard. They had their eyes closed, and their thoughts moved slowly as they enjoyed the wet heat.

“We sit here like this?” I asked.

“That’s right. The steam raises a sweat and cleans your pores. You feel pretty drained, but very clean afterwards.”

I could not remain here.

“I do not sweat,” I said. “This could be fatal to me.”

“It could kill you?”

“I am not sure, but steam like this can be very bad for the health of . . . my people.”

“Then let’s skip this stage and go straight to the baths.”

We exited, closing the door behind us. The two women inside never acknowledged us, lost in their steamy reveries.

“I am sorry to keep you from steaming,” I told Lyra. “I could wait for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, “but no, I came up here to be with you. Let’s go straight to the baths.”

The baths turned out to be six large tubs, with wooden exteriors and a smooth stone lining. A large metal pipe led to each, and Lyra opened the valve leading to one bath – the first such device I had seen in Westeros. The tub filled quickly with hot, steaming water and Lyra threw a double-handful of mineral salts into the stream. She shut off the valve and we climbed in together; I found this enticing though I knew it would not lead to sex.

We soaked quietly for what seemed a long time; when the water cooled, Lyra drained some out and added fresh hot water.

“The supply’s endless,” she explained, “or close enough. It’s fed by a hot spring bubbling up from the mountain.”

Eventually, Lyra declared our bath at an end.

“My skin’s shriveled now,” she said. “But not yours.”

“No,” I said. “It is likely because I lack the proper pores.”

“Is this also why you like to run around naked?”

“It is related,” I said. “Too much clothing traps the heat that my skin radiates. I do like to show my body, but if I cover it too long, I could die.”

“You’re so much like us, it’s easy to forget that you’re not. The same kind of human, I mean.”

While true, her words saddened me. I could never truly be her sister.

“Don’t look that way,” she said, tapping the bottom of my chin with two fingers. “You’re my sister, and I love you.”

“And you read thoughts as well.”

“No, I’m just learning to read _you_. Come, I’ve one more thing to show you.”

We toweled ourselves dry, and put on soft robes. Lyra led me up a set of stairs to a wide balcony overlooking Mormont Keep and the port. It was a beautiful sight, despite the overwhelming green and blue colors. A servant brought us my favorite Mid-Day Meal - roast chickens, fresh bread and large tankards of a very good ale.

“You planned this,” I said.

“The chickens? I might have mentioned it. But luncheon’s served here regularly.”

“We are alone.”

“We’re a little early in the day. It will fill by noontide. See?”

I looked where she gestured, and saw at least ten women walking up the path to the bathhouse.

We sat on the balcony, eating and drinking and chatting about nothing. That late morning spent with Lyra still ranks as one of the best moments of my life. 

* * *

Tansy quickly settled into her role assisting Maege, what was called the “Hand” in the royal government of Westeros. She had done similar things for Sansa Stark, and once again I saw her grow into the position. Like me, my sister had found her place on Bear Island with meaningful work, and this made me very happy.

Tycho Nestoris, the odd man from Braavos, assisted her along with Jeyne Poole, Sansa Stark’s former lady-in-waiting. Jeyne had apparently wished to escape her memories of Winterfell and asked Maege if she could join her on Bear Island. That initiative had taken a great deal of courage on Jeyne’s part, but Maege had been happy to bring her to the island.

I still cannot always tell the ages of these people, but I knew that Jeyne was about the same age as Beth or Sansa. She was a somewhat pretty young woman, shorter than Sansa had been, small-breasted and thin with long brown hair and brown eyes. She had lost the tip of her nose to frostbite at some point.

She welcomed me to the island a few days after our arrival, coming to our chambers with a message from Maege for Tansy.

“It feels so much better with you here,” she said to me. “I haven’t forgotten what you did.”

“You know that I killed Sansa,” I said, once again speaking without sufficient forethought.

“I saw Jon Snow put his hand on her breast and take her life. You killed the creature he made out of her. But Baelish paid for his crimes because of you. And you killed . . . him.”

She could not bear to speak the name of Ramsay Snow.

Her father had served Eddard Stark as his steward, the position Jeyne now filled for Maege, and been murdered in King’s Landing. Petyr Baelish had taken Jeyne and made her a whore, then given her to Ramsay Snow claiming that she was actually Arya Stark. Only a terribly sick mind could even imagine the things Ramsay Snow did to Jeyne, let alone do them.

Jeyne had learned a number of management principles from her father, at least as far as they were understood in Westeros. She could read and write well, and proved a valuable aide to Tansy. After some time, I learned to enjoy her company though she rarely spoke and her thoughts were haunted. It is not an easy thing for a telepath to remain in the presence of someone so badly damaged. But I had adjusted to Beth’s nightmares, and I did not have to sleep alongside Jeyne.

* * *

Maege arranged for Tansy and I to share Mid-Day Meal alone with “Lord” Tycho, in her private dining area. With perfect weather outside, three of the wooden walls had been lowered so the fresh breeze could blow in and we could look out. Maege’s private cook had prepared a large bird known as a wild turkey; I carefully followed the thoughts in which Tansy outlined proper dining etiquette.

“Now then,” Tycho said after we had exchanged pleasantries over potato soup. “I have seen myself in a looking glass, and know that two ladies as lovely as you did not seek me out for romantic interest.”

We paused while Maege’s servant laid out a platter of salmon, a red-fleshed fish caught in streams. I relished it greatly, but forced myself to take only princess-like bites hefted with my “fork” in the courtly manner of Westeros.

“And why do you suppose that we did?” Tansy asked. “Or more correctly, that Lady Mormont wished us to?”

“Lady Mormont relies greatly on your counsel, my lady,” he answered, nodding to Tansy. “I suspect she wishes you to gauge my reliability. But as for the princess . . .”

He paused, considering what little he knew of me.

“You, princess, are renowned for your fighting skills. I suppose you might be along to protect your sister from my undeniable charms. But that’s unlikely. You’re incredibly fast with a blade, far stronger than any man, and skilled at military tactics. I’d wager you have other talents as well.”

I decided to confirm his suspicions.

“As a princess, I received a great deal of training,” I said. “And in addition to strength and speed, I was bred for exceptional hearing. When alone, like this, I can follow a person’s heartbeat – when it beats normally, and when it races with anxiety. All of that means that I can almost always tell truth from lies.”

He nodded, and gave a slight smile. He disliked the thought that Maege distrusted him, while respecting her caution for the very same reason.

“Lady Mormont is wise. She awaited your return to the island before trusting me with sensitive information.”

“She did not discuss that with me,” I said, truthfully. “I had never heard your name until we met on the pier.”

“But you are here to question me all the same.”

“I am,” I said. “As is my sister.”

“You have such talents as well, my lady?” he asked Tansy.

“No,” she said. “I’m what you see. A Riverlands bastard, washed ashore on Bear Island.”

“And adopted by Maege Mormont,” he mused, then made a realization. “Your father was Hoster Tully.”

“Correct,” she said. “Which makes this a safer place for me to be.”

“Yes,” he said. “For me as well.”

He looked at me.

“My story is as Lady Mormont and I told you. I’ve fled here from the Iron Bank’s vengeance, yet I have no real proof that they seek it. I truly do not know if they are angry with me or not. I failed them, but I did not make things worse.”

“Then why not return home?” I asked. “Surely business ventures often fail. If they had no chance to fail, they would have no profit potential.”

His respect for me rose. The servants cleared away the remains of the fish and brought out the turkey.

“Few understand this,” he said. “The Iron Bank surely does as well. The Bank’s directors did not wish to support Stannis Baratheon, yet I allowed myself to be swayed by his first minister, the man known as the Onion Knight. I was allowed to extend loans to Stannis, but told that failure would be on my head.”

“You are not sure they were serious?”

“Oh, they were serious. But would they kill me? I truly do not know. I’m no warrior; I did not wish to find out.”

“What do you wish to do here on Bear Island?” Tansy asked, allowing me to eat some turkey.

“So this would be the key question?”

I nodded confirmation. His thoughts considered whether he should lie, then decided to believe my tale of truth detection without testing me.

“I know what you found,” he said. “In the abandoned castles.”

“You were here at Bear Island,” I pointed out, while spreading butter on some fresh bread.

“I was,” he nodded. “Lady Mormont offered to bring Jeyne Poole here within my hearing, and I rudely and abruptly asked if I might come as well.”

“To escape the Iron Bank?” Tansy asked.

“Exactly. It was likely an overreaction, driven by panic. I saw a chance to escape to the most remote outpost of Westeros, and I took it. I mean no offense, my ladies.”

“None taken,” Tansy said. She looked at me, and I nodded. “What do you mean when you speak of abandoned castles?”

“That you spent months traversing the empty lands, and returned in a ship riding low in the water. And then the princess and your sisters, along Captain Loodey and your most trusted soldiers Trevan, Marsden and Trisha, very carefully off-loaded something in the dark of night.

“I believe you looted at least one abandoned castle of its gold. Possibly more than one. The real prize would have been the Dreadfort; the Boltons traded in slaves very profitably. The Iron Bank was well aware. That’s why the directors were reluctant to back Stannis against them, as he had no idea how much wealth House Bolton could bring to bear. Wealth that I hope now lies beneath our feet.”

He did not appear to plan treachery. But I felt it time to issue a warning, and see how he reacted.

“Let me be clear with you,” I said. “The Iron Bank may or may not kill you. Betray my new family, and I most assuredly will.”

“I know that,” he said, quietly. “I’ve heard the guards talk about you. You terrify me.”

He spoke the truth.

“If this tale were true,” Tansy said, “what would you do with a half-million golden dragons? For the benefit of your new home?”

“So much could only have come from the Dreadfort.”

I stared at him until he looked away uncomfortably.

“Which is none of my concern,” he said. “Should such gold exist, I’d counsel investing. Cautiously, carefully. Never enough to reveal how much gold is hidden in the vaults.”

“In Braavos?” Tansy asked, suspicious.

“No. You’d need me to do that, and you’d be foolish to send me home with your gold. Invest in businesses, here. Trading firms, fisheries, wool. Investments in the ports where Mormont trade already flows, like Seagard or Deepwood Port. Inns, brothels, breweries. Ships to carry the trade. But always investments that bring returns, not in armaments, which do not.”

“He speaks the truth,” I said aloud. “Or what he believes at this moment to be true.”

“At this moment?” he asked.

“People change,” I said. “Their opinions, their desires change.”

“So they do,” he said. “What will you recommend to Lady Mormont?”

“To enroll you as an economic advisor, but not to allow you direct contact with those not of Bear Island, nor access to the ravens.”

“That’s prudent,” he said. “I hope to earn greater trust.”

“I hope,” I said, “that you do so as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode. Dejah Thoris faces a bear.


	66. Chapter Nineteen (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter puts his women in their places.

Chapter Nineteen (John Carter)

Following the destruction of the Ghiscari army, we collected the small number of prisoners and gave them the choice of enlistment or beheading. Most enlisted; there were about a thousand men and I sent them on a march to Meereen overseen by one hundred Unsullied. Two weeks after the battle Melennis arrived at Astapor with the fleet and 20,000 reinforcements I had ordered brought south from Meereen.

New Ghis would have to be punished, but I could not devote my own time to such a campaign. I remained in Astapor preparing plans while Melennis swept away the Ghiscari navy; he also reported skirmishes with a fleet of Westerosi pirates known as the Ironborn, who withdrew when they met stout organized opposition but did not leave the area. I ordered that they be shadowed to make sure they kept away from our shipping, but my admirals had already made arrangements.

I entrusted the siege of New Ghis to Meris and gave her the 20,000 men Melennis had brought south plus another 2,000 from her new pioneer corps. I sent 500 Dothraki Companions, who loaded their horses and boarded ships willingly though not without trepidation. The plainsmen still feared what they called the poison waters.

Grey Worm had no command experience, but he did have my khaleesi’s confidence and seemed a steady and sober individual. Of course, all of the Unsullied seemed steady and sober. I sent him along with Meris to command her infantry. Orange Cat and Green Flea had seen extensive combat against the Jogos Nhai and at Qarth; if Grey Worm were to command large bodies of troops then he had to learn first-hand.

Istarion would serve as her chief of staff, supplying the expedition out of Astapor. This campaign would also serve as a dry run for our invasion of Westeros, when we would move many more men over a much greater distance using many more ships. As it was, the invasion would command almost all of the ships Melennis could muster, including a galley squadron and several dozen merchant ships from Qarth.

I knew Meris to have a harsher attitude than any of my generals save perhaps Ko Ogo. She would show the Ghiscari little mercy, and I wanted that story to spread. They had defied me and they would suffer. Other potential friends and enemies would see the price of defiance, and see that I need not be present myself to exact it. Soon I would be across the sea, and I wanted it made clear that my authority remained.

I spent two weeks in Astapor, a city of red brick somewhat smaller and less decrepit than Yunkai. The city governor, a Hyrkoon named Kainaz, had commanded a Hyrkoon regiment against the Jogos Nhai and must have impressed Selmy to have been appointed governor despite her sex.

“You’ve had any troubles?” I asked, after we had exchanged greetings. We walked the walls, which were in considerably better repair than those of Yunkai.

“A small rebellion,” she said. “Led by a mad butcher named Cleon and a battle-hungry whore whose true name we never discovered. We impaled them down there in the central plaza, in front of the temple of the Green Grace.”

“And that broke the resistance?”

“When we took this city, the Unsullied swept through with sword and spear,” she said. “There was little left for my regiment but to organize burning the bodies of the Good Masters. They say the Unsullied have no emotion, but that’s not what I saw. They hunted down their masters with vengeful rage.”

She believed what she said, and I took careful note. I knew that a city sack could break the discipline of even the most orderly troops.

“Yet there was still rebellion?”

“Cleon and his followers agreed that the Masters should be killed,” she said. “They had their own ideas over who should rule afterwards. All are now in agreement.”

“Any other troubles?”

“Similar difficulties to what you describe in Yunkai,” she said. “A surplus of idle hands.”

“I notice that you’ve recruited women as well as men for our new regiments.”

“They see Hyrkoon bearing arms and wish to do the same. You gave no orders forbidding this.”

“Are they good soldiers?”

“No,” she said. “They’ve not been raised for it, unlike Hyrkoon. They’re smaller and weaker than the males, also unlike Hyrkoon. But they’re determined to fight for you and your princess. They number only two hundred at most.”

I knew that female slaves had fought and died for their own freedom here, alongside the men. It went against my instincts; men should protect women, and fight for them. But my instincts also demanded respect for those who fought to defend themselves. The very act of armed resistance showed that these were not the debased creatures I had known in Virginia. I was in a different world now, as proven by the very fact that I was discussing military matters with an undeniably beautiful woman.

“Very well,” I said. “Volunteers only. Determined volunteers. Be sure this is what they truly desire. Train them as best you can and we can assign them security and other secondary duties.”

On the next morning Kainaz took me on the same tour of the city and its hinterland that I had experienced in Yunkai, escorted by my usual Hyrkoon guards. I left the rest of my followers in the city.

“The land’s far better than that behind Yunkai,” Kainaz told me as we rode into the broad river valley upstream from the city. “But the farmers, yes, we’ve seen the same fatalism you describe.”

“You have a plan,” I said, picking up the impulse from her thoughts.

“Cotton,” she said. “It’s said to need water and deep soil.”

“It does,” I said. “I know something of cotton.”

The landscape did not look like that of Virginia, but I seemed to recall seeing rich bottomlands in Alabama that grew prodigious amounts of cotton. Whether I had seen these in person, or in pictures, I didn’t know, but what I saw laid out before me as we crested a low hill seemed very similar.

We spent the night in an empty plantation house much like those outside Yunkai. Kainaz hoped that I would make love to her there and so I did, in a most satisfactory encounter. Kainaz looked much like Rastifa, though older with a bosom no longer as uplifted as that of my Hyrkoon mistress and some silver in her black hair. She had never been with a man, and seemed to enjoy the experience despite the blood and the initial pain. While I appreciated that she had lain still like a proper Southern woman, I found myself eager to return to Lynesse and her far more athletic performances.

In the morning I studied the abandoned plantation, which appeared to have grown grain for the most part, with olive trees and still more vineyards for the worthless green grapes. I walked the fields alone, touching and tasting the soil, and it sparked memories of Virginia. I felt sure that this land would bear fruitful crops of cotton and tobacco.

Kainaz had never heard of smoking, nor had any of my Hyrkoon escort.

“And this is considered pleasurable?” she asked, somewhat dubiously. “To suck fumes into one’s lungs?”

“The leaves can also be chewed,” I said, “though that’s considered impolite by many.”

“And it’s polite to set leaves on fire in pleasant company?” she countered. “You come from a strange land, John Carter.”

* * *

Lynesse, of all people, knew about tobacco.

“It comes from Yi Ti,” she said as she leaned over me following love-making. I tried to concentrate on her words rather than the spectacular bosom looming in front of my eyes. “It’s placed in a water pipe, sometimes mixed with opium or ganja. You suck in the smoke from a tube and it gives a sudden jolt. A euphoria.”

I kissed her nipple, licked it and felt it harden under my tongue. “You’ve partaken?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said in her sultry, seductive tone, slowly dragging her bosom across my face. “I don’t deny myself pleasure. It makes all of this far more . . . intense.”

This time I took her right nipple in my mouth, and ran my tongue over it.

“In Lys,” she purred, “courtesans coat their nipples with euphorics. Far more pleasant than what you saw in Qarth. I could do that for you.”

“And how would you . . . imbibe?”

“Do you really need to ask, my love?”

She leaned down and slowly ran her tongue along the side of my manhood; she looked at me and grinned. I immediately responded to her attention, and she slid her leg over and mounted me again. She firmly believed that these drugs could enhance both one’s sexual pleasure and their endurance. I would have to investigate how they might be obtained.

* * *

I returned to Meereen in Groleo’s ship _Saduleon_ , taking my entourage with me. I made love to Kainaz again just before we set out; aboard ship I would only have Calye to relieve my needs.

Meris would gladly have done so, and that likely factored into my decision to send her to New Ghis. She seemed competent enough, though inexperienced in commanding armies, and she was devoted to my cause, perhaps uncomfortably so. She had bathed in the sea along with me and several of the male crew members, and so I knew some rumors about her to be untrue: though she bore many scars her breasts had not been hacked off, but they were so small as to be non-existent. She probably would have been rather ugly even without any scars, and I doubted that I could rouse my manhood to enter her.

Despite her rather cruel outlook on life and disregard for the lives of most people, I actually liked Meris, and did not wish to insult her. I knew that she had visited male whores in Meereen and Astapor, and considered that her own business.

I was, however, eager to leave the red bricks of Astapor for the multi-colored pyramids of Meereen. My princess awaited me there. As much as I had appreciated Kainaz’s devotion to me and my cause and Lynesse’s skills, and Calye’s availability, I felt my manhood stir just at the thought of reuniting with Daenerys. And of uniting with Daenerys and Arianne together.

I regretted having left Doreah behind; I could not say she would have been any more capable of providing sexual services aboard ship than Lynesse, but unlike my mistress, my lovely bed slave was a very capable scribe. And I had many ideas I wished to put in writing.

The telegraph stations, and the semaphore code to transmit messages, would become a top priority. Communications had been limited to the speed of a ship or dispatch rider, and a great many days wasted. We had been fortunate; given the utter destruction of the only field army New Ghis could raise, those lost days did not interfere with the campaign to subdue their city. But they easily could have been fatal.

We would build a base in the four conquered cities that would supply the money, manpower and materials for the westward drive to conquer the Free Cities. And we would need firm communications with the cities of Dragon’s Bay even after I had departed with most of our armies. I intended to build new semaphore towers in our wake; wooden structures that could be raised quickly and replaced with brick and stone as soon as possible. When the signals team had completed their flag code, I would put them to work on a code using flashing lights so that communications would not be limited to daylight.

With slavery no longer the heart of business in Dragon’s Bay - and I still failed to see how the slavers had made a profit - we would transition to cash crops: cotton, tobacco, coffee, tea, sugar, wine. Whatever could be grown here and sold profitably. Wars are expensive, and armies have a constant hunger for fresh funds. I recalled how the Confederacy had been strangled by its inability to sell cotton and tobacco for the hard currency that bought modern arms. I had no wish to repeat that experience. We would create a firm tax base here in Dragon’s Bay to fund my conquests, and a fleet to protect that commerce.

I had conquered an Empire, and it was time to declare it one in name: the four cities of Qarth, Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen, plus the Hyrkoon cities, and the Dothraki hordes. It would need a flag, a code of laws and a government bureaucracy - much as I despised the colorless men who staffed the halls of government, I knew them to be necessary to its function.

Plumm had mentioned that I needed a title, and he had not been wrong. My conquests needed a unifying government other than my person and a set of unifying symbols.

“You’re the Khal of khals,” Lizhi said as we sat on the deck under a canvas awning. “The Lamb Men follow kings. Perhaps you should be king of kings.”

I dimly recalled fighting against a king of kings, but more clearly, I remembered another title.

“Emperor,” I said. “My people’s name for a king of kings.”

She nodded. “It is a word,” she said, obviously unimpressed.

“Supreme Warlord?”

“Better,” she said. I knew somehow that I had borne that title before, but had served another. It could not stand alone.

“Emperor and Supreme Warlord.”

“Your khaleesi has many more titles.”

“I’d use none if I could,” I said. “But I recognize the necessity.”

“And how many women will be your . . . what is it called?”

“Empress,” I said. “Three. Daenerys, Arianne and Rastifa the Beautiful.”

“It is a mistake, John Carter,” she said. “Rastifa the Beautiful has fought by your side for over a year. Shared the dangers and proved her loyalty and good counsel. The Dothraki kos respect her and call her sister. They will be glad to call her khaleesi. They will not say so, but they want this, John Carter.

“They respect your khaleesi, because the khaleen told them to do so. But she has not earned this respect herself. She has not borne you a khalakka, and she can barely ride a gentle mare. Rastifa the Beautiful has earned it. The _ko_ s are all aware that it was Rastifa and Rakharo who prevented disaster at the cities Astapor and Yunkai, disaster spawned by your khaleesi.”

“Rastifa has not borne me a son, either,” I said. “Not for lack of effort.”

I knew the problem did not lie in my own manhood, though I recalled that many kings had blamed their queens for their own impotence. We had sent one hundred and twelve pregnant Hyrkoon back to their home cities, my children growing in their wombs.

“I will say this again,” Lizhi continued, willfully ignoring my valid argument. “All you know of Arianne Martel is that she has big tits. The big, soft tits of a soft woman from a soft land. One who has done nothing to earn a place by your side.”

“Her father has 40,000 spears.”

“And where are those spears? I don’t see them. I see Hyrkoon sparring with Dothraki, not Dornishmen. The Hyrkoon have five thousand swords here, fighting for you now, and fifteen thousand more they will send at a word from you. All Arianne Martell has given you is a sword, a cask of wine and the promise of her tits pressed into your face.”

I didn’t answer. Lizhi smiled.

“So you’ve already pressed those big, soft tits into your face. And were they worth the loss of an empire?”

“I haven’t done so,” I said, “not yet. But that does not change the wisdom of what you say. I’ll think on these things.”

“Do so,” she said. “With the head that matters.”

She paused to drink some of the horrid Meereenese wine. The Dothraki had a taste for it, unsurprising in a people who happily drank fermented mare’s milk.

“And these other women,” she said. “Those you fuck but don’t marry. Title them as well. Let all know that it is special, to be fucked by the Emperor.”

* * *

I returned to the Great Pyramid of Meereen to find the Princesses Daenerys and Arianne seated side-by-side on the wide throne that overlooked the audience hall. No one else was present.

“My chieftain,” Daenerys said, rising. “I have reached a decision. Princess Arianne shall be my sister-wife.”

“This pleases me,” I said. “I have reached a decision as well. Rastifa the Beautiful shall be my wife as well. I am still considering Princess Arianne’s offer of marriage.”

Daenerys made to object, but Arianne rose alongside her and kissed her cheek.

“Let it be as our husband wishes,” she said. “The Hyrkoon have been loyal to John Carter. To marry me and not Rastifa would be a grave insult to our armies’ greatest warriors.”

Arianne had investigated both me and my princess during my absence, and credited Rastifa and the Hyrkoon with easing many of the problems caused by Daenerys’ rash actions. The slaughter of the Wise Masters of Yunkai, directed by Rastifa and carried out by her warrior women, had eliminated a potentially intractable foe. Arianne had also calculated that a third Empress would likely be left behind in Essos when we sailed to claim the Iron Throne; though I had not considered this it actually made a great deal of sense and I knew that I could trust Rastifa the Beautiful in such a position.

As I could have determined without telepathy, Arianne had successfully inserted herself into my princess’ bed; apparently there had been a spat with Doreah requiring Rastifa’s intervention to re-affirm that only I could order one of my household impaled.

I accompanied the two princesses to our bedchamber, where I quickly learned that Arianne possessed skills to rival those of Lynesse. She was no maiden, but given the joy she awakened in Daenerys I found that I did not mind.

* * *

Arianne had not been idly boasting; she knew much of giving pleasure to both a man and a woman, and I thoroughly enjoyed her. She insisted that I finish inside Daenerys.

“I’m not your wife,” she said, “not yet. It’s not my place to take your seed before her.”

Leaving the women to sleep, I dressed myself and went to visit the dragons. They had grown enormously during my absence, and I suspected they could now be ridden. They recognized me immediately and made chirping sounds as soon as they saw me. All three eagerly went through their paces for me, having missed the discipline of regular drills and the thrill of receiving praise.

Animals want to be free, but it’s not the same freedom as that sought by man. Too many people try to project their own desires into their animals, be they dogs, horses or even dragons. But animals don’t have human minds. They desire order in their universe, to know where the sources of food and water are to be found, who is their friend and who is a danger. They like routines, because routines are safe. It’s a very black and white world, and I’ve never considered it coincidental that most of them quite literally see the world in black and white.

I had asked my princess to work with the dragons in my absence, and to her credit she had visited them but I could see in their thoughts that she had displayed fear. They loved her, as they did most humans who had regular contact with them, but her attitude and actions confused and frightened them. I believe that had I not taken a firm hand with them, at the very least Drogon the huge black dragon could have become rogue and terrorized the countryside.

As a thought-reader, it’s easy for me to expect too much from others. I immediately knew when the dragons meant to show a threat, and when they merely displayed for the benefit of the other dragons. Their snapping and growling meant little; they did this to show off for their siblings.

I had no clue how much I might weigh, and guessed at 220 to 240 pounds, or 100 to 110 kilograms in some strange and effete foreign measure I vaguely recalled. Drogon appeared easily large enough to bear my weight, and I tentatively mounted. He stood still with me on his back without complaint; instinct told him to vault into the sky but I ordered him to remain in place. Should I fall from a great height, even my enormous strength wouldn’t save me.

Before I attempted to fly on dragonback, I had one of the Dothraki saddlers prepare a special seat for Drogon with a girth running around his vast bulk. The Honored Lizhi, always ready to involve herself in leatherwork, oversaw the fitting.

“I cannot wait to ride my dragon,” my princess gushed several days later as we watched the work. “I was born for this.”

“I will try it first,” I said. “They are very excitable and I will not have you injured.”

She thought to protest, but decided to bask in my protectiveness.

“How large will it grow?” Pono asked.

“They say Balerion the Dread could swallow an aurochs whole,” Tyrion said. “I’ve seen his skull. I don’t doubt the truth of that.”

“A full-grown aurochs?” Pono clarified.

“Full grown,” Tyrion confirmed. “And he breathed fire so hot it melted steel and stone.”

“You’ve studied dragons,” I said. “Unusual for a Lannister, is it not?”

“As a child, I badly wanted a dragon,” he said. “It would be big and powerful, everything I was not, and could become if I could but ride it. I would be . . . something. Someone.”

“So, Lord Tyrion,” I said, “when the dragons are broken to the saddle, you’ll get your wish. You can ride a horse?”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

He turned away to fiddle with his wine glass, unwilling to let any others see the tears forming in his eyes. For what little it was likely worth, I had won his loyalty with a single small gesture.

“Ko Pono,” I asked, “are there dwarfs among the Dothraki?”

“No, my khal. They are left as offerings for the Horse God. But there have been riders with one or even two legs missing, who continued to ride and hunt and fight in a saddle made for shortened legs. One of these would surely work for the khaleesi’s dwarf.”

* * *

After sparring with Rastifa the Beautiful and again marveling to see such speed and skill in a woman, I asked her to dine privately with me that evening. She inquired after my adventures in the south, mistaking the invitation as a briefing session. I have never been a romantic man, and despite the large number of women in my entourage I did not always feel comfortable sharing my feelings with one outside of my khaleen advisors. Now I had to do so. I did not love Rastifa the Beautiful, but I esteemed her greatly.

“Princess,” I said, “I called you here for another purpose. One regarding the relations between you and I.”

“I have failed to bear you a son,” she said. “Do you require my life?”

“Your life? No, only your hand.”

“You will cut off my hand?”

I realized how ignorant I had been; the Hyrkoon did not marry.

“No, I would never harm you,” I said. “You know about marriage among other peoples?”

“Of course. A man and a woman form a union to bear children.”

“I should like for you to marry me. We call that asking for a woman’s hand.”

“But I do not appear capable of bearing you a child.”

“That may or may not be true,” I said. “You’ve shown yourself a trustworthy companion, a skilled leader in war and in peace. I would see you rule by my side.”

“You already have a princess,” she said. “Will she not object?”

“She does not object. I will be crowned as Emperor, and the two of you as my Empresses, if you agree.”

“I am yours to command, as are all Hyrkoon.”

I rose, and held out my hand to pull her to her feet. I then sank to one knee.

“Marry me, Rastifa the Beautiful. Become my wife and Empress.”

“I will marry you, John Carter,” she said, sinking to one knee herself. “But only as an equal.”

“As an equal,” I said, not realizing what I had just done. She kissed me, and I felt my arousal began. I should have clarified her meaning instead of making love to her, but my passion overtook my rational mind.

* * *

“You’re going to marry her,” Lynesse said, my manhood still inside her as she straddled me. “The Dornish whore, and make her your Empress.”

I considered slapping her, but kept my composure.

“I’m considering it,” I said. “Princess Daenerys and Rastifa the Beautiful shall be my Empresses. Arianne may become the third after we reach Westeros.”

“Not Doreah? Not me?”

“She’s a slave,” I said. “As are you.”

“I’m no slave. I’m a high-born woman, who came to you of my own free will.”

Her voice fell out of its honeyed tones and into a sharp-edged screech.

“You gave yourself to me,” I said. “That much is true. And that makes you mine.”

“I’m leaving you.”

She made to dismount, but I held her in place with my hands on her waist.

“Only to ride a pole,” I said. “A far less pleasant ride than this. You’ll do as I say.”

“No.”

“You don’t get to use that word with me,” I said, rolling her onto her back and entering her again. “This is what you’re for. Don’t forget that again.”

She cried as I thrust into her, but did not scream or otherwise protest.

* * *

Both Lynesse and Doreah glared at me when I summoned them the next morning, along with Calye, who showed only curiosity. The two blonde women believed that I had raped them; as slaves, they had no will outside mine. They could not deny their bodies to me, no more than they could deny me my sword, my horse or any other of my possessions. Calye lacked their beauty, but at least she knew her place in this world.

I sat behind my desk with the three of them lined up before me.

“As you know, I’ll be crowned Emperor in a few days and marry Rastifa the Beautiful. My wives will each become Empress. It’s only fitting that each of you receive a title as well.”

I slid three golden collars across the desk, one to each of them. They had been made by one of the best goldsmiths in Meereen, and even my unpracticed eye could tell they represented exceedingly fine work.

“You are henceforth Imperial Concubines. You will serve me as you have before, but with actual status in the Imperial household.”

Calye picked hers up and turned it in her hands slowly and carefully.

“Thank you,” she whispered, fitting it around her neck. The other two women left theirs on the desk.

“That was not a request,” I said. “I’ve granted you titles and a measure of respect. But you remain my property. You’ll do as I say, and wear the collar.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Lynesse said, her voice breaking and tears brimming in her eyes. Both were affectations. “I came to you as a free woman. I gave myself to you freely. And this is my reward?”

“It’s a rich reward,” I said. “When Tregar Ormollen lies dead at my feet, you will not lie beside him.”

“What does that Dornish whore have that I don’t?”

“That’s the last time you’ll say such things about Princess Arianne. And to answer your question. You have a fine bosom, my dear, but she has a fine bosom and 40,000 spears.”

Lynesse began to weep, an act designed to evoke my sympathy or guilt. She failed. Doreah looked at her with contempt.

“Your promises still hold?” Doreah asked me, picking her collar up and studying it as though she held some particularly repulsive insect.

“You service only me,” I said. “Your time is your own when you have no other duties. You, Doreah, will continue to serve me as a scribe and serve as handmaid to First Empress Daenerys when required. You’ll each receive a handmaid of your own.”

“I’d rather serve Rastifa,” Doreah said. “She’s never called me a whore.”

“You _are_ a whore.”

“I’d still rather serve Rastifah.”

“Done.”

Doreah looked at Lynesse.

“He’s every bit the bastard he seems,” she said, not caring for my presence. “He’ll impale you on a pole outside as soon impale you on his cock.”

Doreah’s words shocked Lynesse. The Lysene whore gestured to me with the collar.

“He also reads thoughts, which you’d know if you paid any damned attention to what goes on around you, you silly cow. I’m not saying anything he doesn’t already know. If he was going to kill me for it, I’d already be long dead. He knows I hate him and it excites him to fuck me.”

“You saved my princess’ life,” I reminded her. “That bought you a great deal of forbearance, but even so there are limits. Careful lest you cross them.”

Lynesse finally picked up her collar.

“I should never have left Lys,” she said, even as she decided to deploy her skills with even greater enthusiasm, to convince me to make her my Empress as well. Doreah’s warning that I understood what she thought had made no impression. “I’d have done anything you asked.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But now you’ll do as you’re told. I’ll require both you and Doreah this evening. Be sure that I don’t regret your elevation.”

They left, and I took Calye on my desk. She cried as I reached my climax, this time from joy in her new status, and reached her own moments later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, the marriage of John Carter. Again.
> 
> Note: Carter, not for the first time, is experiencing some selective memory, in this case regarding Virginia's slaves, who were greatly feared by the white population leading to slave patrols, savage punishments and such.


	67. Chapter Forty-Seven (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris beats a bear to death.

Chapter Forty-Seven (Dejah Thoris)

With the gold securely buried under the Keep, Alysane showed Tansy and I where she had had the Mormont sailors place the books rescued from Castle Black and transported through Deepwood Port. Stacks and stacks of books, still wrapped in their waterproof canvas coverings, filled one of the empty barracks formerly occupied by House Guard soldiers.

Mormont Keep maintained a small library in the same building where Maester Rolston had his offices and chambers. As in other castles, the building took the form of a tower, though it stood away from the walls and could not be used for observation.

“Yes, I’ve seen the books,” Rolston said when we went to visit him in his workroom. “It’s an impressive store, with many volumes unknown even at the Citadel.”

An older man, Rolston wore thick gray robes with a chain of many different metals around his neck. Tansy had explained that the chain signified a maester’s mastery of different subjects. Rolston had thin gray hair, sad eyes and usually an unpleasant attitude. His thoughts showed awareness of our high standing with Maege, and a grudging acceptance of the need to accommodate our whims. He considered my skin tone odd, my attitude silly and my breasts alluring.

“My sister insisted that we save the library,” I said. “She wishes to learn.”

“At the Citadel,” he said. “We’re taught that a woman’s role is to birth and rear children, certainly not one of scholarship.”

He smiled. I had not seen him do so before in our brief encounters in the courtyard or Great Hall.

“I’ve come to see things differently since my arrival on Bear Island,” he added, mistaking my lack of response for anger. “The women here are . . . confident, I suppose is the word.”

He did not truly disagree that a woman best served as a living hatchery, but wished to remain in Maege’s good graces. And so he stood and walked to the shelf of books behind his desk, selecting two volumes. He considered asking whether Tansy could read, decided that I might kill him if I took it badly, and pressed ahead.

“I’d start with these,” he said, resuming his seat and placing the books in front of Tansy. “Introductions to the basics of life, and to the history of Westeros. When you’ve read them, we can meet and discuss them.”

“Might I listen as well?” I asked.

“Of course, princess. Lady Mormont tells me you were something of a scholar yourself in your homeland.”

He found this puzzling; he did not believe that a woman could hold such a position, but respected Maege’s judgement. As I studied more of his thoughts, I corrected that to understand that he feared her displeasure.

“I specialized in what we call _physics_ ,” I said, using John Carter’s word. “How natural forces interact, and their underlying mathematical nature.”

“Mathematics?”

“Every interaction, whether of physical objects, living beings, air, water, sound or anything else, can be described mathematically.”

“Truly? Perhaps you should teach me.”

He was not completely serious, but intrigued all the same.

“I would not mind,” I said. “It would only be fair, if you teach my sister.”

“The Citadel would have my chain for that.”

“They are not here.”

“No, they’re not.” He resisted the idea of teaching a woman, and hated even more the thought of learning from a woman, but very much wanted to find out about higher mathematics. “I’ll look forward to our discussions.”

Something else teased in his mind. He did not like us, but felt the need to know more about us, particularly me even though he felt more attracted to my sister.

“And the library?” Tansy prompted, breaking into his thoughts before I could learn what lay behind his strange attitude.

“The two lower levels of the tower are essentially empty,” he said. “Storage for the most part. There should be enough space there, if you’ll allocate a carpenter or two and some lumber for shelving.”

“I can do that,” Tansy said. “And thank you.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ve been exiled to the edge of the world for two decades now. When I heard about you ladies, I’ll admit, I was resentful. Women doing things that . . . well, you can easily guess.

“As much as I’m come to love this land, for a scholar, it’s a backwater. By far the most isolated post under the Citadel’s care. And suddenly you’ve turned it into a center of knowledge second only to the Citadel itself, or possibly the library of the Red Keep.

“You’ve changed my life, even as it nears its end. Never think me ungrateful.”

For the most part, he told the truth. He did look forward to browsing through Bear Island’s new library, and learning more about mathematics. He lied about resenting us; he did not approve of Tansy’s thirst for learning. And he deeply disliked what he saw as my pretentions.

Yet that was not all. He planned to keep careful watch on our activities, as though he would report them to someone. I decided that I would keep watch on his as well. 

* * *

As Tansy’s assistant, Jeyne gave us our work assignments. I told her I was willing to do whatever was asked, as long as it did not involve boats or ships. Or eggs. Or spiders.

She very diffidently requested that Beth and I help the workers repairing the main pier in Mormont Port, a long wooden platform stretching into the little enclosed harbor in which ships anchored. Jeyne assured me that I would not have to actually climb into the water, and in practice we never came anywhere close to the dock, instead sawing planks and large wooden pieces called “pilings” to aid in the construction.

The oxen recognized me, and let out a long, low call in greeting. I petted them and gave them apples to eat. I still felt guilty that I had wished to eat them. They seemed content in their new work, as content as such stupid beasts could be, but I noticed that their new caretakers, known as “drovers,” hated them as deeply as I had.

Guided by the drovers the oxen dragged the dead trees, known as logs, until they were sited over a long trench. Two people then cut them into useful shapes using a long, toothed blade called a “whipsaw.” I usually worked as the “topsawyer,” standing atop the log, since it took more strength to pull the blade up than down. I encouraged Beth to do the same, to help build her upper body strength. I was so much stronger than the other sawyers that eventually my partners learned to simply guide the saw while I provided the strength to both push and pull it through its cut.

I could tell from their thoughts that the sawyers believed the work both exhausting and boring, but I did not mind. I liked using my enhanced strength for something constructive, and the work gave me time to think about all of the many things I had done and observed in this world. It was the perfect job for a spectacularly strong daydreamer, but it struck me as wasteful of a great deal of labor. Even with my physical strength added to the work force, we could not provide enough planks, pilings and beams for all of the projects that Tansy, Jeyne and Tycho wished to undertake.

For the island to prosper, it needed more finished lumber. It had plenty of high-quality trees, and many had been cut in previous years and allowed to dry out, or “season,” to become ready for use in building.

While I had vast knowledge of science, compared to the people around me, I found it difficult to turn it to practical use. Almost all of my knowledge was theoretical, and what I did know of building machines or practical devices depended on other machines to make the parts for them. I could probably build a workable computer out of circuits and wires. I could not build one out of sand and iron ore.

I realized that John Carter would likely be able to apply far more of his primitive knowledge to practical use. His planet Dirt had developed technology only slightly more advanced than that of Westeros, well within the intellectual grasp of these people. My own people knew too much for it to be useful. Yet some of it could be applied.

I loved my new home, despite its odd colors and too-broad horizons. I did not wish to turn it into a green Barsoom. I would teach my new family and their people about sanitation and other steps to keep them safe, but I decided that I would resist impulses to change their way of life. I would not play the star goddess, granting gifts of magic.

* * *

Jory, Lyra and Beth all assisted me in administering the Guard, which proved very helpful since I still had not applied myself to learning to read and write their letters. Following an old Mormont practice, abandoned since the start of the last war, we summoned 100 of the feudal warriors called “levies” to live in the Mormont Keep barracks and train with the House Guard for one month at a time. Then they would go home and 100 others would take their place.

Over several days, Ronis, Lyra and I watched each of the Guards spar with Beth, Trisha or Marsden to assess their skills. Most of them had hard-won battle experience, and their individual abilities with sword and spear matched what I had seen on the mainland – they counted on sheer brawn to overwhelm enemies. Though the soldiers knew that I had trained all three of their opponents, they still seemed surprised at the new moves and added quickness Trisha and Marsden had acquired.

We finished with a full-speed match between Trisha and Salna, considered the best of the female fighters, in which my friend “killed” the women’s champion in all three rounds. A similar match between Beth and Trevan, the men’s champion, ended with the same result.

“We will all learn these skills,” I told the assembled Guard at the end of the third day. “I have been told that one Mormont fighter is worth five mainland soldiers, and I believe that to be true. Now we will all be worth ten mainlanders.”

Next, we turned to their formation skills. I immediately saw that they knew how to form a shield-wall quickly, and displayed a high standard of physical fitness. All took their positions very seriously, and eagerly wished to learn the fighting techniques I had promised to teach them.

“Integration will be a problem,” Ronis said as we walked along the morning lineup of all the Guard. Lyra and Trisha walked behind us. “Those who stayed on the island, and I’ll tell you that it includes me, feel as though we disappointed the Lady and the House.”

“By failing to die?”

“I didn’t say it made much sense.”

“You fulfilled your duty,” I said. “You protected our home and my youngest sister. That the threat did not turn real, does not make the duty less important.”

We had reached the end of the line, all too quickly.

“Until I have a steward,” I said, “I shall need to rely on you for additional tasks.”

“Of course, Princess.”

“As you say, we must work on integration, and not allow groups to form. We are one Guard.”

“I agree, Princess.”

“Please intermingle barracks assignments, watch rotations and places in battle formation. Force them to serve with soldiers of different wartime experience.”

“Yes, Princess.”

“I am pleased with what I have seen,” I said. “We will begin a new training regime tomorrow morning and seek to become even better. I will teach all of you both physical and weapons exercises from my homeland. We will then perform them to start each day, in addition to other training.”

As I had promised, I showed my new soldiers the exercises of Helium; those who had been with me at Greywater Watch and Winterfell already knew them. Afterwards, we ran through the hills around Mormont Keep; none fell behind.

Ronis explained that training before the war had mostly been in individual feats of arms: sword, spear, mace and shield. They knew how to form a shield wall, as I had seen, but did not have much experience in maneuver. I set them to working as a unit, learning to move while maintaining formation and keeping their shields up, and snapping into a number of formations. We do not fight in this manner on Barsoom – we have explosive artillery that will turn a tight formation of soldiers into so much bloody carrion – and I had to work out this part of the training with some experimentation.

A small raised stand had been built many years previously allowing two or three people to look over the training ground, and Maege joined me there to see Lyra and Ronis conduct formation maneuvers.

“Before the war,” she said, “the House Guard filled this parade ground just standing to. Now there’s room for marching.”

“Who were they?”

“The Guards we lost? Almost all came from the island, usually levies who found they had a taste for more soldiering.”

“What becomes of their families?”

“Most had none; we signed on young men and women for the most part. If they married, they usually left the Guard.”

“But fought in wartime as levies?”

“Yes.”

I did not know how to approach my point with subtlety, and so I plunged forward.

“In my lands, we pay the families of the fallen a regular sum of money, to replace the lost income of the soldier.”

“A pension, it’s called. Bear Island has never been able to afford such.”

“It can now.”

“Aye.” She looked at me. “You shame me. I shouldn’t have needed a reminder.”

“You have had much to consider. You asked me to see to the soldiers. I am merely doing as you asked.”

“You _have_ spent time at court, haven’t you?” she asked, shaking her head. “I’ll ask Tansy to set up pension payments for all of the fallen. Probably more useful to hand out some of it in grain and dried fish. We’ll work it out.”

I had entrusted everyday responsibilities like guard duty assignments, payroll, discipline and meals to my officers – a princess is taught to delegate. But this issue required my intervention - a princess is also taught to use her status for the benefit of those charged to her care. 

The maneuvers complete, the day’s work as usual ended with a full-speed match, this time between Beth and Trisha. My sister had more natural quickness, but my friend Trisha had a great deal more actual combat experience which showed as her wooden sword touched the center of Beth’s chest. We watched quietly as they resumed for the next round, and then Maege spoke.

“Don’t forget,” she said. “They both bear the mark of a Shield Maiden.”

I nodded, and she returned to her solar.

* * *

After a spell of rainy weather, which I learned came often to Bear Island, Lyra rode with me into the mountains to show Tansy the small lake I had visited with Jory and Beth. This time, fortunately, I made sure to bring a pair of bear-spears.

Once again, I loved the ride through the pine forests. The days of rain left them steaming, and gave them a slight smell of rot. I enjoyed myself all the same.

When we reached the lake, we spread out a canvas sheet and sat upon it for our Mid-Day Meal: once again, fresh bread, roasted chickens and wine. I enjoyed it immensely, and enjoyed sitting with my sisters, drinking wine and looking out over the lands below us. I could see the tiny white sails of fishing boats spread out across the inlet that lead to Mormont Port, and knew that far more of them trawled for their catch further out to sea.

Afterwards, Tansy and Lyra swam in the lake while I sat on the shore and watched them. Lyra was a very good swimmer, but could not keep up with Tansy. My breath caught when the two of them rose out of the water to walk ashore hand-in-hand: nude, glistening and beautiful.

“Never seen anyone that fast in the water,” Lyra said. “You really are a Riverlands girl.”

“With the arms to prove it,” Tansy said, flexing. She did have more defined muscles there than most women I had observed, though Lyra’s arms looked little different.

“I would like to nap under the sun,” I said. “Before we ride back.”

“Not a problem,” Lyra said. “There’s plenty of time.”

I sprawled across the canvas, feeling the sun on my back. My skin was far less prone to solar radiation damage than that of my sisters. Tansy collected the chicken bones and went to toss them into the woods where animals would scavenge them; Lyra picked flowers and sniffed them. I felt deep contentment as I drifted into sleep.

My ears and my telepathic senses brought me to full alertness at almost the same time. Tansy screamed as she ran out of the nearby woods, still wearing nothing. Second later a bear crashed out of the undergrowth in pursuit. I had seen pictures of bears, but this was my first encounter with an actual animal. It was fairly stupid, its thoughts filled with rage and the desire to kill. The bear did not need great intelligence to accomplish its wishes. It ran with an ungainly, shambling gait that somehow generated enough speed to overtake my sister. The beast would be upon her very quickly. More quickly than I could be upon the bear.

I leapt to my feet. As I rose, I snatched up both bear-spears from where I had laid them on the ground next to our resting place. I left my sword and charged the bear, hefting one spear in my right hand and holding the other low and alongside me in my left. I hoped to throw the spear at the bear, but with Tansy directly between us I hesitated.

“Down!” I screamed. “Down on the ground!”

She did not throw herself on the ground. Even worse, my scream had startled her and she froze. The bear drew close, but I felt my sister Lyra’s thoughts approaching from the right. She tackled Tansy as the bear reared and prepared to strike, covering Tansy’s body with her own. As soon as they cleared out of my line of sight, I threw the spear in my right hand.

Concerned that I might hit one of my sisters, I threw high. The spear clipped the side of the bear’s head, slicing off its right ear but failing to kill it. Instead, it only became more enraged, but it stood on its hind feet and roared long enough for me to close the gap between us. It had huge claws, and swiped at me with amazing speed considering its size and ungainly manner. I dropped and slid under its passing right claw, even as I speared it in its right flank. It swung its arm back, splintering the haft of the spear about halfway along its length.

As it broke the spear, it swept at me with its left claw; I had to hit the ground and roll to pass under it. I came to my feet quickly, and without thinking I leapt on its back. Had I thought to snatch up the broken shaft of the spear I might have jammed that into its neck, but instead I wrestled the bear with my bare hands.

I clinched my legs as tightly around the bear’s back as I could, and dug my left hand deeply into the fur of its shoulder. It tried desperately to sling me off, throwing itself from side to side and trying to reach me with its claws. All the while it continued to roar in great anger. As we spun around, I saw Lyra pull Tansy to her feet and run toward the lake, hoping to swim across to the other side. I was relieved that my sisters did not stand around to wait for me; they could not possibly help and would only distract me.

With no other weapon, I brought my right hand down on top of the bear’s bloody head as hard as I could. It roared in pain; with my enhanced strength, reinforced bones and a powerful burst of adrenalin, I had struck it very hard but its skull apparently was quite thick. I smashed the bottom of my fist onto its head again and again until I felt the bone crack and the bear slumped forward.

Carefully, I pulled myself off the bear and extracted the spear-head from its side. I pushed the broad blade into its neck, unleashing a spray of blood, and sawed it back and forth until I was satisfied that the beast was dead.

Lyra and Tansy reached me as I finished.

“You killed a bear,” Tansy said, out of breath. “Unarmed.”

“I had a bear-spear.”

“Until you didn’t.”

“It would have killed you.”

“Well, yes,” Tansy said. “They do that.”

“Not if I am with you.”

“You could have been killed,” she said, her voice breaking on the final word.

“I did not care.”

She took me in her arms and kissed me, while Lyra wrapped her arms around both of us and kissed us each on the cheek.

“Lyra took a far greater risk,” I said. “She placed her body over yours.”

She hugged Lyra tightly, saying nothing.

“You’re covered in blood,” Lyra said to me. “Wash it off while Tansy and I dress your kill.”

“Dress it?”

“Cut off its hide,” she said, “and take the best parts of its meat.”

“First I will help,” I said. “It is the Mormont Way.”

I knelt by the dead bear.

“Dejah,” Lyra said, “Some of the blood is blue. You’re hurt.”

“I do not feel hurt.”

“The bear swept its claws over your back. I need to clean that.”

She did so, and bandaged the cuts with a strip torn off of her dress. It did sting somewhat, but it was not a serious wound.

As we rode back to Mormont Keep, I thought about my injury. On Barsoom it would be nothing; here infection could kill me if my sisters did not clean it regularly since I could not reach it. Perhaps it was time to teach them some of my planet’s science after all. 

* * *

I settled into a very comfortable routine: in the early morning we exercised, and I practiced at swords and hand-to-hand fighting styles with Beth, Lyra and Jory as well as several of my soldiers. Sometimes Alysane or even Maege joined us; they were good fighters but relied on brute force rather than skill.

After First Meal, I worked with the House Guards or on one of Jeyne's labor details. Some days I continued the work after Mid-Day Meal, and on others we rode to the mountainside, the shore or simply into the forests around Mormont Keep. Several times each week I ran along the rocky beach with Beth, Trisha and Trisha’s younger sister named Sandy, who worked in the Keep. Some of the Guards asked for personal instruction in arms, and I always agreed.

I had never had responsibilities like these in Helium; I worked on my scientific inquiries at my own pace. Sometimes I stayed awake for days when an intractable problem caught my imagination. I attended meetings of my grandfather’s council, and I oversaw the Academy of Science. But never did I perform physical labor.

My new life gave me renewed energy. I loved the smells and the sights. I even enjoyed sawing wood. I spent hours with my sisters riding our horses through the trees, walking the rocky beaches looking for edible shellfish, or hunting deer with spear and bow. These were wonderful days.

After Evening Meal, we would return to our chambers, build a fire in the fireplace and settle ourselves on the huge skin of the bear I had beaten to death. Tansy would read aloud from a book of adventure stories she had found in Winterfell while Beth and I nestled on either side of her. She always read aloud, even when alone, something I came to understand everyone did in this place.

Beth joined us in our bed whenever dreams troubled her, and sometimes simply remained with us for the night. I tried to keep my promise to stay out of her thoughts, but on occasion they could not be avoided. I knew that she still felt a strong sexual attraction for me, and admired my body when she thought I didn’t see her doing so, but feared attempting sex with me or anyone else.

“Your dreams seem less intense,” I offered one morning as we cleaned ash out of the fireplace together. Tansy had gone once again to work with Maege.

“I think they are,” she said. “Having a home, and a family, seems to agree with me.”

“With me as well,” I said. “I have enjoyed having you with us.”

“It’s not an intrusion? Between you and Tansy?”

“No. Tansy had become my sister before we met the Mormonts, and that bond will always be intense. It only adds to my happiness that you are a part of it as well.”

She turned red in the face, making her freckles seem dark against her skin.

“And my . . . attraction? Does it bother you?”

“Do you wish to have sex with me?”

“Dejah! You’re not supposed to say things that directly.”

“I know no other way.”

“You’re a quick study,” she said, but she smiled to show that she was not upset. “You could learn.”

She leaned into the fireplace to dig hardened ash out of the corners with a blunt knife, and avoid looking me in the eye. I took the opportunity to consider her ass; men and some women found hers alluring, as they did mine, but I did not understand why. Perhaps a shapely ass somehow indicated a good outcome for live birth.

“I don’t know,” said her muffled voice. “I don’t think I’m ready for it. I don’t want to keep you and Tansy from . . . you know.”

“From sex?” I asked. “We have not truly had sex together.”

“Not truly?”

“Together we gave orgasm to Queen Cersei, before I murdered her. And once I . . . helped Tansy receive orgasm with my hand. That is all.”

“She’s beautiful. You’re not tempted?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “But my people do not crave sex as strongly as yours.”

She sighed, and kept scraping. I recalled kissing Trisha; perhaps my cravings had increased.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Beth interrupted my thoughts. “Are my feelings toward you a problem?”

“Not for me,” I said, truthfully. “In my lands sisters such as we, what we call ‘sisters of the heart,’ do pleasure one another sexually. If you wish that, I will not object.”

She did not object to my naming her my sister, but asked another question.

“What about Tansy?”

“That could be enjoyable.”

“You just pretend to not understand, don’t you?”

“Possibly.” 

* * *

Several months after our arrival, I worked with Beth alone in the early morning hours under a completely blue sky. We practiced with both wooden swords and wooden staves. Afterwards, we cleaned ourselves with buckets of cold water, dried off with thick soft towels and then joined the other Mormonts for First Meal.

“My niece fights like a Mormont?” Maege asked in what had become a ritual.

“Almost,” I answered, truthfully. “She improves every day. She is extraordinarily fast.”

Beth smiled, knowing the mild praise to be well-earned.

“We had a raven,” Maege said. “We don’t get many of those on Bear Island. The Onion Knight has encountered a friend of yours.”

“I do not have many friends.”

“A blacksmith named Gendry Waters, seeking a new home. Ser Davos asks if he would be welcome here.”

I smiled at that news; Maege’s thoughts indicated that I did so rarely. I had been trying to present a less dour impression, but that was a tangent to be followed at another time.

“He is young,” I said, “but very good at his craft. He modified my sword.”

“And his character?”

“Of very high quality. He is honest, hard-working, with a care for others.”

“Dejah and I,” Tansy added, “fantasized that he would be the perfect son.”

“This is true,” I said. “He looks much like John Carter.”

“And Robert Baratheon,” Tansy said. “His father.”

“A royal bastard,” Maege mused, staring at her fingers. “But with Cersei and all of her spawn dead, no one will care about that. And we need a blacksmith.”

I considered telling Maege that Cersei had thought of Gendry as her son, but I did not wish to admit to my adoptive mother than I had been a whore and a murderer. And so, out of cowardice, I said nothing.

“But there’s more,” Maege said. “He comes with two hundred and fifty-two other people, part of some group called the Brotherhood Without Banners along with some desperate smallfolk they picked up along the way. That was Beric Dondarrion’s outlaw band, was it not?”

“That’s right,” Tansy said. “Some good people, some despicable criminals, most somewhere in between.”

“We’ve lost many people, but we’ve no need of thieves and rapists.”

Maege thought, and looked silently at her heir.

“Send Dejah,” Alysane suggested. “She can ask them a few questions, sort out the good from the bad, and invite those to the island.”

“You would do this?” Maege asked me.

“Of course,” I said. “I am your daughter now. But my abilities are not magical. I can usually separate truth from lies. But that is vastly different from weighing all of one’s character, particularly in a very short time.”

“Very well. I had meant to ask you to travel to the mainland anyway. Tansy wishes to meet with the Manderlys at Winterfell and spend some of our new-found gold hiring builders and other specialists we lack here.”

I began a question, but Maege answered it before I could speak.

“Yes, Lyra and Jory can go with you, if they wish. And Beth goes where you go.”

“That’s correct, Aunt,” Beth said.

“Try not to kill too many people.”

“Only the bad ones,” I promised. “What do we seek from the Manderlys?”

“May I?” Jeyne piped up. She had sat quietly next to Tansy, absorbing the conversation.

“Of course, dear.”

“Additional sheep for breeding stock,” she read off a prepared list. “A stonemason and some helpers will improve the keep and give the storage buildings stouter foundations. Some shipwrights can increase the fishing fleet and repair the heavier damage to existing boats.”

“Remember,” Maege cautioned. “We are a very poor house. We took a little gold off the Boltons fallen on the battlefields, no more.”

“We can’t hide it forever,” Alysane said. “If we can’t spend the gold, then the effort was for nothing.”

“I don’t want to provoke attack,” Maege said, “before we can defend ourselves.”

“I understand both of your concerns,” Tansy said. “And there’s also the well-known effect that when you spend a great deal of gold, prices rise to match.”

Inflation, we called it on Barsoom, a basic principle of economics.

“If we start throwing our gold around, it will be worth less,” she went on. “And yes, heavy spending will attract notice and thereby the jealous, like a just-paid drunken sailor. Yet at the same time, the gold has a purpose. Aly is right; if we don’t use it, we can’t help the island.”

She reached into a pocket and drew out a silver coin.

“This is another problem,” she said, letting the coin march along the back of her fingers. I had never seen my sister display this unusual skill. “The Night’s Watch, and the Boltons, kept their cash reserves in gold. That’s the usual way, since the same value in silver coin would be vastly heavier and larger. But the common folk rarely spend, or even see, gold. They spend copper coins, sometimes silver, never gold.”

“So our gold,” I said, “cannot circulate.”

“Not easily,” Tansy said. “We can’t just shovel it into peoples’ hands. We can invest, but it will take some time before we see everyone prosper.”

“What do you suggest?” Maege prompted.

“That Mormonts,” Lyanna interjected, “make decisions for Bear Island.”

I now saw the value in arranged marriages. Perhaps we could find a mainland house seeking a bride for a young son. Perhaps one in the far southern land known as Dorne.

“And so we shall, littlest sister,” Tansy said with a smile. “We’ll bargain hard, pressing for value from every dragon. We’ll drag out discussions so Dejah can use her abilities, and keep asking for pauses because of our feminine frailty so she can tell us what she’s learned.”

Like Jeyne, the youngest Mormont knew that I had ways of telling truth from lie, but did not know that I could read thoughts. That ability remained a secret shared only by my friend Trisha and the adult Mormont women in the room.

“If they wonder where we came by such gold and disbelieve our battlefield explanation,” Tansy continued, “we’ll hint at having taken the Night’s Watch treasury. When you’re caught out, confess to a lesser crime and the greater is often forgotten.”

“Are you willing to do this?” Maege asked me.

“I am happy to help my family,” I said, only somewhat ashamed at tweaking a child. “I will do my best but I must remind you that my ability has limits. Beyond that, I do not have Tansy’s understanding of business and I am easily distracted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris returns to Winterfell.


	68. Chapter Forty-Eight (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris finds a cold welcome at Winterfell.

Chapter Forty-Eight (Dejah Thoris)

Before we could voyage to the mainland, Ran Loodey wished to “careen” his ship, which entailed dragging it ashore, scraping the hull clean and smearing it with fresh tar. Apparently, this had to be done regularly to keep small sea creatures from boring into the wood, and to keep sea plants from growing on the ship and slowing it. I detected from his thoughts that he also wished a chance to thoroughly clean the vessel before taking ladies of House Mormont aboard, as he had been delivering cargoes of fish to Deepwood Port.

“Not much of a market there,” he told me as I watched the work on his ship. “They’ve got their own fishing fleet, and they’re working the same waters. But going south means going into Iron Born waters.”

“My sister Beth was . . . captured by the Iron Born,” I said. He understood what I did not say, and became angry. “Who are they?”

“Scum of the sea,” he said. “They raid merchant shipping and coastal villages, always places what can’t defend themselves. They rape and plunder, and generally run from a fight. They come from the Iron Islands, a chain well south of here. Some of your older soldiers fought them when the old King ordered their islands taken.”

“Their homeland was captured?”

“Aye. Wasn’t there myself, but it was Mormonts through the breach at Pyke first, the Lady and her Shield Maidens right behind young Lord Jorah.”

One of those Shield Maidens had been my friend Trisha’s mother, and she had never returned to her daughter and her home.

“Why,” I asked, “are they still able to raid?”

“Now that’s the sort of thing you’d have to ask the Lady,” he said aloud, though his unspoken opinion wished that they had all been killed and their ships destroyed. “For whatever reason, the king let them build a new fleet. Within two, three years we were losing ships to them again. They invaded the North during the last war, but not the island. They took Winterfell, as I guess you know.”

“I do,” I said. “I have never met them, but I hate them as you do.”

“Understood,” he said. “Let’s both hope you don’t get the chance to act on that.”

I disagreed, but did not say so aloud. Vengeance has no value; there are no gods and no afterlife, and the dead have no knowledge of what was done in their name, for good or ill. Yet I wished to kill those who had harmed Beth Cassel and taken Trisha’s mother from her.

* * *

While Ran Loodey worked on his vessel, Maege summoned my sisters and I for further instructions for our visit to Winterfell. To my mild surprise, she asked Jory to open the meeting.

“We need to talk about food,” Jory said. “We haven’t completed the inventory, but don’t really have to. We’ve plenty of dried, salted and smoked fish. But the grain vaults are as low as I remember them, even with the new harvest coming in.”

Many of the buildings, great or small, sat atop stone cellars housing massive quantities of food. Galleries carved out of the rock in the hill behind Mormont Keep could hold still more. Tansy had explained that these stockpiles were necessary for the inhabitants to survive the winter, which she claimed could last for years.

That seemed ridiculous; even dried meats and grains won’t keep for more than two of Barsoom’s years at the very most. The trees, plants and animals could not possibly last through years of winter, either. Yet Tansy claimed that they did, and I did not doubt her belief. When I expressed my reservations, she pointed to the odd happenings involving my sword, walking angry dead people, the machine beneath the Nightfort and the impossibly high Wall. As a scientist, I could not accept magic as an explanation; something was at work on this planet that merited deeper investigation.

While my mind wandered, Maege placed her hands in front of her, fingertips touching, and pondered the question.

“Maester Rolston believes we’ve experienced a false spring,” she finally said. “Which usually means that Winter will return with even greater fury.”

She looked to her heir.

“Alysane?”

“You were there,” she said. “Dejah rammed her sword into the Wall, it pulsed and the Others died. Ever since, the Wall has been melting – Lyra and the others saw even more evidence of that on their return from the Dreadfort. The land is definitely warming, both here and on the mainland.

“So. Do we act like Spring has returned, or prepare for an even harsher Winter? Tansy?”

“I’m not concerned,” my sister said.

“You should be,” the Little Bear responded in a rather nasty tone. The deep disdain in her thoughts reflected on her face so clearly that even I could see it.

“That’s enough,” Maege said. “You will show your sister respect.”

Lyanna prepared to argue, but her mother cut her off.

“No more out of you. Jory, take her to Maester Rolston and return here as quickly as you can.”

Jory led Lyanna quietly out the door of Maege’s private dining room. I did not like the youngest Mormont, but tried to remind myself that children of this world were not yet fully responsible for their actions.

“Please, Tansy, continue.”

“Yes, Maege. We saw it on our ride across the North. A huge stretch of territory has been devastated by the Others. But they’ve committed no meaningful physical destruction. There’s an enormous amount of stored food across the North in abandoned holdfasts, and if needs be we can send expeditions to gather it.”

“I agree,” Alysane said. “We should keep both of our larger ships at the island and ready to move in case the weather turns.”

“Lyra?” Maege prompted, noting my adoptive sister’s unease.

“None of that food is very close to the coast. We left the wagons at the foot of the Gorge, and I see no reason why they won’t be there still – we can send one of the fishing boats to be sure. The Shadow Tower likely has a few more. The Night’s Watch employed deep, heavy wains able to haul a great deal, but any farm wagons we have to use will be much smaller. And we’ll need more draft animals than Dejah’s four oxen. It can be done, but we can’t pretend it will be easy.

“Those draft animals have to be fed. After about five days, it’s not really efficient. Also, there’s the sheer amount to consider. I haven’t seen the inventory Jory was working on, but if it’s as poor as she hinted then we need enormous amounts. Much more enormous than we can haul in four wagons and two ships.”

My adoptive sister looked at me; she knew that I could almost instantly perform calculations that gave their maesters trouble. So could a hatchling of Helium, but I had not told her that.

“How much?” she asked.

“How many people?”

“Fifty thousand, at two pounds of food per day.”

“How much per ship?”

“Call it 150 tons, fully loaded. We have two of them.”

I thought a moment.

“Each loaded ship will feed the island for three days.”

Maege nodded.

“And if we choose to buy food? Tansy?”

“We’re the only House that even slightly doubts that Winter is coming. Everyone else is buying whatever they can. Food is short everywhere, and even with unlimited gold I don’t know how or where we would obtain it. Lord Tycho believes we could arrange contracts with Essosi grain merchants but that’s a terribly long voyage subject to all manner of awkward events. And as Dejah and Lyra just pointed out, we would need a fleet of grain ships.”

“Your advice?” Maege prompted.

“May I ask a question?” I interrupted.

“Of course, dear.”

“How did the Free Folk survive winter?”

“Most didn’t,” Maege said. “The rest holed up in caves.”

“They stored food in these caves?”

“Probably. But we’ve no way to find them.”

“Ran Loodey told me,” I said, “that he takes fish to the mainland to sell.”

“That’s right,” Maege said. “We can’t subsist solely on fish, or we die. We need different foods to live. So we trade fish for grain, or coin to buy grain.”

I recalled John Carter saying the same; my people had less need for a balanced diet though lack of certain vitamins, minerals and enzymes would eventually kill us as well. But lack of any food would kill people of either species long before a poor diet could so so.

“We now have coin,” I said. “Perhaps we should keep our fish?”

Maege nodded.

“You’re right. Tansy, please put an end to fish exports. Smoke it, dry it or salt it and store it here.”

Tansy nodded and made a note.

“Could we flee?” Beth asked.

“Flee where?”

“Last Hearth,” Beth said. “Karhold. One of the bigger castles in the North with food stocks but no people.”

“We would have to do so right now,” Alysane said. “We’d need weeks just to get our people off the island, then weeks more to reach the empty castle.”

Jory returned and took a seat next to Beth. They playfully shoved one another gently with their shoulders. It pleased me to see that they had become friends again, but perhaps I had taken their dispute at Last Hearth too seriously.

“Tansy?” Maege could have run a meeting of Helium’s worst bureaucrats, quickly and efficiently.

“I’d advise against panic moves. We’ve planted for a new harvest, but should have plans ready in case Winter really is coming.”

“All right, then.” Maege said. “It appears we’re spending the Winter on Bear Island. We’ll send a small force to Westwatch and the Shadow Tower. You said the Shadow Tower had winter stores?”

“Yes,” Jory said. “Only Dejah and I entered, and we didn’t stay long. But it’s enough to be worth taking. If it’s anything like Castle Black, it could be a great deal, though it’s still only enough for 200 men.”

“That’s 200 more people we can feed all Winter,” Maege said. “The group we send to the mainland will empty the Shadow Tower of its winter stores, and prepare both castles for use as collection points. If Winter comes we can fan out from there to secure supplies and bring them to the castles, then on to Bear Island when weather permits sailing.”

“Does the ocean freeze?” I asked.

“Only in a severe Winter, but navigation can be made very difficult by storms and drifting ice. Some fishing continues, but it’s hazardous for the boats.”

So it would be even more unpleasant, and I no doubt would be needed on the mainland. I did not look forward to sailing on such seas, but I would do my best to help my new family and their people.

“Dejah,” Maege addressed me. “You were expert in your world’s natural philosophy. Do you agree with Maester Rolston regarding the coming of Winter?”

I thought for a moment.

“Understand that I have little knowledge of this particular planet’s workings.” She nodded, as did my sisters. “If activating the Wall ended the strange climate patterns that you think normal, then winter should last about one-fourth of a year, somewhat longer in the far north.”

“Three months,” Lyra supplied. “Plus however much longer for being of the north.”

“Every planet known to us follows this pattern. I do not believe your long winters are natural, and could have been ended when the Wall began to melt. But I have no proof for this, and my . . . profession demands proof. The bolder the statement, said the Venerable Uhnkt, the stronger the required proof. And I have none.”

* * *

I felt excitement and also dread as we prepared for our journey to the mainland. I looked forward to seeing Gendry and Ser Davos, and hoped that Myranda Royce might be there as well. Randa had said that she wished to live like a Mormont, and I that hoped she would join us on Bear Island and fulfill that wish. Even so, I did not wish to step on board a ship again, I did not wish to leave the island, and I could not see trade negotiations as anything but utterly boring.

Nevertheless, I packed my scanty belongings – several sets of black Night’s Watch leggings and tunics, my padded tunic and ringed armor, my green Mormont surcoat with a picture of a bear on it, a spare set of sandals and my weapons. I left my leather fighting harness behind; I had come to like the way the tight-fitting “blacks” highlighted the curves of my body though I worried about overheating. My mare would not be making the trip, as Ran Loodey had converted the space usually used for horses to carry Gendry’s people instead.

I resolved to show no weakness as I boarded the ship, and after embracing Alysane, her children and Maege and exchanging bows with a bemused Lord Tycho I walked resolutely up the gangplank and onto the deck. I took a place on the rail opposite the plank, and soon Tansy and Beth came to stand on either flank.

“You’re alright?” Beth asked.

“I will not be defeated by a puddle of water, even a large one.”

“That’s my fearless princess.” Tansy smiled.

Much of that proved to be brave talk, but it seemed the voyage was less horrific than that which brought me to Bear Island. Captain Loodey confirmed my suspicions in one of my more steady moments.

“Smoother water here,” he said. “We’re in the lee of the island, and have some protection from the winds coming down off the ice sheets on the Frozen Shore.”

Recalling how I sank into the mountain lake, Jory and Beth secured one end of a rope to my waist, and the other to the ship’s aft mast.

“What’s that for?” Tansy asked, amused.

“She doesn’t float in water,” Beth said. “Sinks like a rock.”

“I should have thought of that,” Tansy said, very softly. “I had to pull her from the harbor at Duskendale. She sank then, too. We could have lost her if she’d fallen over the side while she was puking.”

“Well,” Beth said, “now we won’t.”

She looked at Tansy, then touched her hand.

“You can’t think of everything,” she said. “And nothing bad happened.”

Tansy nodded, still unhappy with herself.

For my part, I still vomited regularly but when we approached the small port where we would disembark I was able to clean myself, shoving my head into a large bucket of cold water and washing my own hair.

“How can you stand that?” Lyra asked, watching in some disbelief. “I’m the child of the North. I thought you came from a world of deserts?”

“Even deserts can become very cold,” I said. She rubbed my hair dry and wrapped it into two braids to match hers. “Our world’s . . . air is thinner than yours. That causes it to become hotter during the day, and colder at night. I believe my people can tolerate extremes of temperature better than yours.”

That was a very basic description and only somewhat accurate, but I did not have the concepts in their language to speak clearly regarding atmospheric pressure, magnetic fields and solar radiation.

“You’ve had a much better voyage,” Lyra said.

“I have. I am looking forward to seeing the Onion Knight and the others.”

I paused.

“But I am already eager for our return to Bear Island.”

I only wobbled slightly when I left the ship. We rested in a small inn in the small village, known as Deepwood Port. The Mormont sailors were well known here, and when they thought we were not aware most visited the two whores whose room at the back of the lone tavern constituted the port’s brothel. Ran Loodey’s thoughts said he would await our departure, and then engage both of the women.

Galbart Glover had sent horses for us, which we collected at the tavern. Along with Trisha, Trevan and Jarack accompanied us when we rode out two days later, for a day-long journey to the castle known as Deepwood Motte. Lord Glover met us at the main gate and took Beth, Tansy and I on a tour while Lyra and Jory, who already knew the place well, saw to the horses. Though Trisha was no longer Jory’s personal guard, she found a need to work in the stables as well.

Like Mormont Keep and Last Hearth, Deepwood Motte had been built almost entirely of wood – the North was not a prosperous land but it had plenty of trees. Stone could only be quarried in certain places and required specialized workers and far more effort. The castle had two concentric rings of a heavy log palisade, with a large hall atop a hill and a massive, squat watchtower alongside it. The walls had been badly damaged during sieges and assaults, and repairs were underway but had not yet been completed. Someone had attempted to burn the castle’s central buildings as well, but fortunately had not succeeded.

We dined that night with Lord Glover, his brother Robett and Robett’s wife Sybelle. While Galbart Glover remained the friendly man whom I had known at Winterfell – at least, when I was not threatening to dismember him – the other Glovers remained aloof throughout the meal. I let Tansy and Lyra carry the conversation and sipped my wine in the manner of a princess of this world while I attempted to discern the source of their dislike for us.

“Will you be returning to Bear Island, Lady Lyra,” Lady Glover asked Lyra, “once you’ve finished at Winterfell?”

“Yes, Lady Sybelle,” my adoptive sister said. “The mainland’s no place for a Mormont. It’s wonderful to visit, but I’m always happy to see home again.”

“Quite,” Lady Sybelle said, sipping her own wine. “You wouldn’t wish for a castle of your own?”

Robett shifted uneasily, believing his wife too forward.

“Princess,” he interrupted. “I hear that you led our troops in battle against the Ryswell and Bolton forces. The men can’t say enough about your skill with a sword, and in tactics.”

He felt resentment that his brother had allowed a foreign woman to command the Glover soldiery, believing that Galbart should have retained leadership himself. That we had been victorious only bothered him more; the credit should have redounded to House Glover and not some outsider.

“Please thank them,” I said. “They are brave men and it was an honor to fight with them and your brother, who commanded the left wing. My sister Lyra fought as well. My friend Trisha and I faced the Ryswell twins in double combat.”

I tracked Sybelle’s reaction to my mention of Lyra. She definitely felt threatened by my adoptive sister, though not by me.

“They were outstanding fighters,” Robbet said, eying Trisha standing in guard position behind my chair. She bore a serious expression somewhat at odds with her freckles and twin braids of dark red hair.

“We begged them to abandon the Boltons,” I said. “They refused, and they died.”

I tried to smile, but did not lighten the tone as I had hoped.

“You also saw many terrible things during the war,” I said. “Are you as glad as I that it is behind us?”

“Indeed, Princess,” Robett Glover said. “Now is the time when we rebuild and renew, though it’s hard with Winter coming.”

“Do you believe Winter is coming?” Tansy picked up my desire to shift the subject. “The weather seems so much warmer.”

Talk shifted to the debate over whether a False Spring was in the offing, or if Winter had indeed receded. And I had the answer to my own question: Robett and Sybelle Glover feared that Tansy and I had actually come as chaperones for Lyra, Jory and Beth, to arrange marriages for them. They suspected Tansy’s former occupation, but knew from people at Winterfell that Maege had complete trust in my sister. They further believed Galbart far too receptive to my wishes, and feared that Tansy and I would easily convince him to marry Lyra and make her the Lady of Deepwood Motte. Galbart Glover had no children; if Lyra then bore a Glover heir that would cut not only Robett but Robett’s children out of the line of inheritance.

I liked Galbart Glover; he was a good man. Few men of this world’s upper class had been as receptive to an equal role for women as he had proven himself. His pride had been hurt when Lord Reed placed me in command of our little army facing the Boltons, but he had given no outward sign of disrespect and performed well leading the troops through the woods - similar operations had been his specialty when serving Robb Stark. Were Lyra forced to marry, she could do far worse. She had said she had no wish to marry and leave Bear Island, and I did not wish for her to do so. Selfishly, and jealously, I wanted my adoptive sister to remain at my side.

Afterwards, I lay in front of the large fireplace in our quarters with all four of my sisters and my friend Trisha, and told them what I had learned.

“You’re right,” Lyra said. “I could indeed do far worse. But I don’t want to leave Bear Island.”

“Is it not a woman’s role,” I asked, “to solidify alliances by marriage?”

I recalled how my grandfather had forced me to marry the loathsome Sab Than, and shuddered.

“He’s not that bad,” Tansy said, smiling.

“He is not,” I agreed. “I recalled how I was once forced into marriage.”

“You told us,” Lyra said. “I won’t need anyone to kill Lord Glover for me, though. You’ve freed all of us from arranged marriage.”

“How did I do that?”

“House Mormont has little to offer except daughters. Before you came along, Mother would have felt compelled to make marriage alliances using all of us – me, Jory, Lyanna and even Beth. Now, every Northern house wants to be friends with the Princess.”

“I do not want you to leave me,” I suddenly said in a fit of excess honesty. “To leave us.”

“I know,” she said, as usual. “And I don’t want to leave you. I might marry if I can remain on Bear Island, but I’ll not move to the mainland, not even for a crown.”

She meant it. I relaxed.

“What about you?” I rolled my head back to look at Trisha, who sat by the fire and honed her sword.

“I’m married to this right here,” she chirped, and patted her sword. Then she became more serious. “I don’t really know. You just promoted me and I don’t want to leave the Guard. Both of my parents died fighting for House Mormont; my mother at Pyke and my father at the Twins. I’ve needed the pay to support my own sister, but now she’s old enough to make her own way, maybe I’d like to raise a child on my own. It’s allowed, if you’re keeping that rule in place.”

“Of course,” I said. “You did not cease to be a woman when you became a soldier. But you are not old.”

“I am for marriage,” she said. “Five-and-twenty. Not many men want to marry a woman.”

“I thought that a man could only marry a woman.”

“I think she means,” Tansy picked up the point, “that they’d rather marry a girl. Who’ll obey all their whims and never question them.”

“Exactly,” Trisha said, and nodded.

“As I pretended to be,” I added. “When I was a princess. I did not do so very well. When I was very young I dreamed of a beautiful wedding.”

“Have you ever seen a Westerosi wedding?” Lyra asked me.

“No,” I said. “Ours is a public ceremony under my planet’s two moons. They are much smaller and faster than the moon of this planet. When the moons pass overhead, the sacred water is sipped and promises exchanged.”

“Is there a celebration?” Jory asked.

“Yes, feasting and drinking.”

“We don’t have the moon part,” Lyra said. “But there’s feasting and drinking, and then the bedding.”

“Bedding?”

“The men grab the bride,” Lyra said, “tear off her clothes, and carry her to the groom’s chambers. The women pull the clothes off the groom and push him there as well. Then they all stand outside and listen for her to be broken in.”

“You mean,” I said, “they engage in sex for the first time.”

“You guessed it.”

“That is barbaric,” I said, unable to stop my words. But no one seemed offended.

“It is,” Tansy agreed. “We don’t talk about sex in the open, so it makes everyone a little crazy when they get a chance to pretend it exists.”

“I am glad you are not marrying,” I said to Lyra. “I would kill anyone who tried to do that to you.”

“I know,” she said again. “And I know you mean it. But don’t worry, you won’t have to.”

“Maege did give me instructions,” Tansy said. “Unless one of you truly wishes it, I’m to refuse all marriage offers in her name.”

“You know where I stand.” Beth snorted, then looked at Trisha with some alarm.

“I figured,” my friend said softly, so only Beth could hear. “I’m not bothered.”

“I feel as Lyra does,” Jory added. “I won’t leave Bear Island, or any of you. Even Beth.”

Beth poked her under her ribs, making her jump.

Much more at ease, I settled into the huge bear-skin that we had spread before the fireplace, and slept soundly in the midst of my sisters. Beth’s dreams awakened me only once, and I stroked her hair until she slept again. 

* * *

In the morning, Galbart Glover and a small escort of Glover soldiers joined us for the ride to Winterfell. The Lord of Deepwood Motte had no awareness of his relatives’ unease over his spending time with us; Robett and Sybelle showed us off with perfect courtesy but no warmth.

The ride proved easy; the road to Winterfell had small but pleasant inns along the roadside and we slept in a real bed every night. On the second morning of our journey, Lord Glover sat with my apprentice and me for a brief rest after having joined us for sword practice.

“You are most definitely Ser Rodrik’s daughter,” he told Beth with approval. She had beaten Trevan in two of three rounds, leaving the veteran soldier pleased to have finally touched her first in at least one round. “I never knew him at his peak, but I heard stories, and I fought alongside Jory at Pyke. All of the Cassels were noted for their blade speed.”

She smiled, pleased. Galbart Glover was an experienced fighter.

“It does not trouble you,” I asked, “to spar with women?”

“I saw you fight,” he said. “I’d be a fool not to wish to learn more.”

“Many would not agree.”

“Many are fools. There’s a great deal more to lordship than feasting and tilting.”

“Tilting?”

“Playing at combat,” he explained, “is probably the best description. On horseback, with lances, two knights try to unhorse one another. The danger lends excitement, and while many call it preparation for war, you know well that it is not.”

“House Glover,” I said, “suffered terribly in this war.”

“You saw the damage to Deepwood,” he said. “I made the choice to rebuild as quickly as possible, but that means levying the smallfolk for labor and taxes, and they have their own problems. The smallfolk always suffer for our vanities.”

“You are not like other lords of Westeros.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he smiled. “We’ve intermarried with Mormonts for hundreds of years, and have constant contact through Deepwood Port. Some of their attitude must have rubbed off on us.”

“Beth and I,” I said, “have worked sawing logs.”

“You, Lady Beth?” he looked at my apprentice and laughed gently. “I doubt you were taught that skill at Winterfell.”

Beth was uneasy speaking with a man, but Galbart Glover was much more relaxed than the typical lord of Westeros.

“No, my lord,” she said. “Lady Stark taught us girls that ‘courtesy is a lady’s armor.’ I’ve come to prefer steel. She was insistent that Sansa be surrounded by proper young ladies, and so I learned to do needlepoint, and to dance.”

“I remember!” he exclaimed. “I danced with you at a harvest festival, perhaps five years ago?”

“Yes.” She shifted her weight, uncomfortable at the conversation but not wishing to offend Lord Glover.

“The war was hard on you,” he said. It was not a question; he suspected that she had been raped but did not guess the extent of the horrors she had faced. No sane person would have imagined them.

“It was.”

“Then I will leave you ladies. But do not forget that one thing has not changed. I remain your friend, Beth, and would never see you harmed.”

He stood, bowed, and went into the inn to clean himself and dress for the journey.

“Not all men are evil,” I said quietly.

“Not all,” she agreed. “It’s hard to remember that sometimes.” 

* * *

We arrived at Winterfell to find a small group awaiting us at the gate: Ser Davos, a plump woman I learned was his wife Marya, Tormund Giantsbane and my friend Gendry. I wondered why no others had come to greet us, since I had saved the entire North from the danger of the Night’s King and his evil not-dead minions.

A number of Winterfell soldiers greeted us in the courtyard, formally and politely. Hallis Mollen, their captain, felt shame at the coolness and made a point of striding forward to kiss my hand. He recognized my apprentice with a look of surprise.

“Little Beth Cassel?”

“It’s me, Mollen.”

“You’ve grown up. And you’re alive. I heard Theon Greyjoy had, um, killed you.”

He had almost said “raped and killed,” but caught himself. He had been in the South with the Stark armies when Winterfell was sacked, and felt guilt for what had happened to his friend’s daughter.

“There were times I wished he had. But I lived, I grew, and now I ride with the Princess.”

“I’m very glad to see you, Beth. I grieved for your father and Jory. It’s good that part of them still lives in you.”

“I know they were your friends.”

Mollen struggled with emotion, but kept his face calm as he changed the subject.

“Would you like to see what we’ve made of Winterfell?”

Beth looked at me.

“If it will not disturb you,” I told her.

“I was happy here before . . . you know. I’d like to see the place.”

“Friends are precious, old ones more precious still. Go with Mollen.”

She and the older man started to climb up the nearby steps leading to the top of the walls. Lyra and Jory took our horses to the stables while the rest of our small party stood around Ser Davos.

“Have I or my new family committed some offense?” I asked him quietly. “I thought I was well-liked here.”

“Well, Princess,” he began, unsure how to express the problem. “Many of the castle folk expected that you’d rescue their lady. Not put your sword through her heart. And when you didn’t return here after . . . it looked like guilt. I should have expected something like that, but it never occurred to me.”

“You know that she was already dead. And that I had no choice but to kill what she had become.”

“I know that,” Davos said. “They don’t. Or they’ve chosen to forget.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Walder, the stable boy once known as Hodor, had seen Lyra and Jory enter the stables and rushed out to greet me. “Princess, there’s so much to tell you.”

Before he could launch into his tales, another friend appeared.

“Daughter of the Red Star!” Tormund snatched me into his arms in a hug that would have crushed the ribs of a normal woman. “Show some good cheer! You’re back in the company of Tormund, Speaker to Gods.”

He saw that Tansy wore black leggings and tunic with a Mormont surcoat as well, and slowly looked up and down my sister’s body.

“Far better than those silly Southron dresses,” he said. “You look a real woman now, a She-Bear.”

“I do not fight,” Tansy said. Tormund shrugged, then slammed a meaty hand on my shoulder.

“With this one here looking after you, what need have you of weapons? She _is_ a weapon! Har!”

He turned back to me, and spoke more softly.

“Come find me when you’re done with the kneelers, both of you, we’ll share some mead. Your friend Val is here too.”

“I do not think she is my friend. All else is well?”

“Aye. Many of the kneelers hate you for killing the Red Wolf, but they fear your sword. They’ll do nothing about it.” He paused. “I had to put down my own son. I know it didn’t come easy for you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris loses a friend.


	69. Chapter Forty-Nine (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hot Pie returns!

Chapter Forty-Nine (Dejah Thoris)

After a few hours to nap and bathe, we held our first meeting in the late afternoon in the castle’s solar, kindly loaned to us by Ser Davos. Ser Wylis Manderly represented his father, who was unable to visit Winterfell due to illness. According to his son’s thoughts, he did not wish to visit because he was too enormously fat to travel easily.

This impressed me; Ser Wylis was perhaps the fattest person I had ever seen. His father must have been truly gigantic and perhaps incapable of movement in this planet’s gravity. We occupied the solar’s long table, with Ser Wylis and a merchant from his city of White Harbor facing just Tansy and myself. Lyra had business with the Lords of the North, in the name of our House. Jory had gone to find Beth; even though Trisha would be present to look after her I wished my little sister to remain under my apprentice’s eyes as well. Winterfell had become decidedly less friendly than it had been during my last visit here, though perhaps it would be friendlier to Beth Cassel, who had been born here, than it was to me.

Ser Wylis had orders from his father to accommodate us as far as possible; the Manderlys believed me to be a potential power in the North and wished good relations with House Mormont. Ser Wylis found my comparative lack of facial expressions disquieting and though he thought me likable even so and believed that I had killed the Night’s King, he doubted that many others would accept a female savior of their civilization.

Tansy read out a list of our needs, and Ser Wylis promised to do his best to meet them. He believed that he could supply the sheep and shipwrights she sought, but feared that no stonemasons would travel to Bear Island, there being so much well-paid work available in more civilized places.

“Can you supply coffee?” I asked, apparently startling both my sister and Ser Wylis.

“Coffee?” he echoed, puzzled.

“A drink from the Summer Isles, milord,” explained the merchant, a gray-haired man named Medrick who had been silent so far. “Made from the roasted beans of a tropical plant.”

“Ah, yes. Ser Davos served it when we arrived. Bitter taste. But to each his own. Her own, as well.”

Medrick looked at his lord, who nodded permission.

“There’s little call for it in White Harbor, but I can get it for you. I should warn you that it’s rather costly.”

“I relish it greatly,” I said. “I have had it but rarely since coming to the North.”

“Then we will see that you have it!” Ser Wylis said with enthusiasm, recalling his father’s orders to win my friendship. “Medrick, send several sacks of these beans to Bear Island as soon as you can, a gift of House Manderly. My father will pay your costs.”

“I’ll send a raven at once,” Medrick said. “There are several importers in White Harbor who deal in it on occasion, and surely at least one has it in stock.”

Ser Wylis had taken an important step toward winning my friendship. 

* * *

We left the Manderlys and returned to our chambers, sitting on the balcony with cups of wine. People across these lands would no doubt be more productive sipping coffee instead of wine, but this was not yet an option. Jory and Beth were still wandering the castle and Lyra had not yet returned. I did not really enjoy serving as an eavesdropping device, but I had promised Maege that I would assist.

“You found Ser Wylis trustworthy?” Tansy asked me.

“Yes,” I said. “They are well capable of plotting and deceit, but they wish no trouble with us, only business. Their lord believes that I will gain great political influence in the North and does not wish that to be the sole province of House Mormont. Thus, he hopes to gain my approval, and has ordered his son to take whatever steps he can to win it.”

“Anything else?”

“They both imagined each of us naked.”

“Of course. Beyond that.”

“The Manderlys have rarely done business with Bear Island, and their lord sees opportunity that will otherwise go to the west.”

“He’s not wrong,” Lyra put in, joining us on the balcony. “We usually buy from Seagard, but Seagard is also recovering from the war.”

“It is as he said,” I continued. “He believes that he can recruit ship-builders, but is doubtful that stone-workers will come to Bear Island. The sheep are easy to supply; there is apparently a surplus of them with so much of the North depopulated.”

“I wonder,” Tansy said, “if we could just round up the sheep we need on abandoned farms.”

“Where are the sheep grown?” I asked. “We saw no sheep on our ranging.”

“Mostly south-west of here,” Lyra answered, “in a region called the Barrowlands.”

“The not-dead never came there.”

“No,” Lyra said. “But we killed a great many of their men who were fighting for Ramsay Snow, so they may not wish to trade with us now.”

“So we cannot round them up,” I said, “and cannot buy them directly.”

“Not unless you can summon them like you do horses.”

“I cannot,” I said. “They are fairly stupid, and belligerent. I prefer to eat them.”

“Looks like we’ll need to buy them then,” Tansy said. “He was willing?”

“Eager,” I answered. “Ten for one gold coin, any mix of male or female you wish.”

“How rich does he think we are?”

“Not very. He believes we took some gold from Ramsay Bolton and are spending it. He vastly over-estimates our military strength and wishes to be allied to House Mormont.” 

* * *

I found Tormund in one of the castle’s smaller courtyards, throwing javelins with his son and son-by-law. All three men greeted me warmly, in contrast to nearly everyone else in Winterfell outside Ser Davos and his wife.

“So you’re my sister, somehow?” Toregg asked as I hefted one of the javelins, what the Free Folk called a throwing spear.

“I am adoptive sister to your half-sister,” I said, throwing the javelin at a large round target filled with straw. It pleased me to see that I had not lost my skill with such weapons. “I do not know what that means in these lands. Or any other.”

“Sister twice removed,” offered his brother-by-law Ryk.

“Your black stone knife was a useful gift,” I said. “Thank you.”

He pulled my working knife out of his ragged furs and tossed it in the air. I caught it as it came down and put it in the empty sheath strapped to my thigh.

“You used it on the Night’s King?”

“It broke off in his side,” I said, “and gave me the pause I needed to save my sister from the Night’s Queen.”

“You killed the Red Wolf,” Ryk said.

“I did. It gave me no joy.”

“Does it ever?” Toregg asked, lining up for his turn. “Killing, I mean.”

“No,” I said, then paused, recalling Melisandre. “That is not true. Rarely.”

“Har!” Tormund finally spoke. “You’ve still got a piece of your soul left, then.”

“A piece,” I allowed. “Not all.”

“The She-Bears will give it back to you,” he said. “We’ll be off soon to try to find our own.”

“You are leaving this place?” I asked.

“Aye,” he said. “Almost all of the Free Folk, we’ll head north of here, a castle known as Queenscrown. Our own house, we’ll be. But no lord, and no kneeling.”

“You will farm there?” I had a difficult time imaging these men in the fields.

“We farm,” Tormund said, and laughed. “How did you think we ate north of the Wall?”

“The Onion Knight made an agreement,” Toregg added. “We live as we wish, within the lands of Queenscrown. No raiding, no stealing of unwilling women.”

“And no stealing of our folk,” Tormund added, looking at me sideways. “Someone burned the Bolton castle, home of the slave traders.”

“Truly?” I asked. “Who would have done such a thing?”

Tormund laughed again. He had spoken to Val. 

* * *

Walder finally caught me that evening, as I sat on a bench outside the Great Hall with my friend Trisha, waiting for the Evening Meal bell to ring. She had just begun to tell me about her younger sister’s troubles maintaining herself while Trisha was absent with the Mormont field army on the mainland, when Walder seated himself on my opposite side and immediately launched into his own story.

“Walder,” I said when he stopped for breath. “This is my friend Trisha. She was telling me of her sister’s troubles when you arrived.”

“Hello,” Walder said. “It was so exciting, Princess, that . . .”

I held up my hand to stop him.

“Walder,” I repeated. “Trisha was speaking. It is not polite to interrupt. Doubly so to interrupt a woman. Triply so to interrupt a woman who carries a sword.”

“I . . . I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just have so much to say.”

“I am not the one you interrupted. Trisha’s words are as important to her, as yours are to you.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and finally looked at Trisha, and then lost his ability to speak. “I . . . I need to get back to the stable.”

He stood and rushed away.

“What was that?” Trisha asked.

“You have never before struck a man speechless with your beauty?”

“No,” she said. “With a practice sword, a few times. And once with a cudgel. He spoke to you just fine and you’re . . . you.”

“Do you find him attractive?”

“No,” she repeated. She had already spoken bluntly when I first met her, but felt freer to do so with me than with others. “I know his story, and I pity him, but I’m not the sort to take a man into my bed out of pity, if you follow.”

“I follow.”

* * *

We had been at Winterfell for several days, and I had not had opportunity to speak with my friend Myranda Royce. Her thoughts indicated that she had avoided contact with all of us, but with me in particular. And so I undertook one of my bolder moves since arriving on this planet, inviting myself to her chambers.

As a guest of Winterfell, she had no guard or servant waiting outside. I knocked on the door, and she did not answer. I could detect her thoughts inside, and she worried that either I or one of my sisters awaited her. I knocked again, and still she did not answer. I considered breaking the door open, but I thought how embarrassed I would be to explain to Ser Davos why I had smashed part of his castle. So I knocked again, and this time called through the door.

“Randa, please open the door. I know you are there.”

She came to the door and called through it.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes,” I said, “you are. Please open the door.”

“Are you going to kick it in if I don’t?”

“Possibly.”

She cracked the door open. She checked to see if I had my sword; I wore a simple brown dress without my weapon. This set her mind at ease, which in turn troubled mine.

“All right, come on in.”

“I brought wine.”

“Thank you, Princess,” she said, rather formally. “Please sit.”

I took the seat she indicated, and she took one nearby but outside my reach. She feared me.

“I would never hurt you, Randa. You are my friend.”

“I know that.”

“You have avoided me since my arrival.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You no longer laugh.”

“No.”

She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. She did not pour wine. I remained silent, knowing she would soon speak if only through her own nervousness.

“You killed Sansa.”

“I killed what she had become,” I said. “You saw Jon Snow take her life.”

“I have nightmares of it, do you know that? She lies on the ground like Lyn Corbray and screams as you run your sword through her heart with a wicked grin and that nasty snarl of yours.”

She envisioned such in her mind; Sansa wore no clothing other than a skirt and held up her hands as if to beg for her life. She looked as though she still lived, not like the dead Sansa I had encountered near the Wall.

“It was not like that,” I said. “She had been enslaved by the Night’s King. When I injured him and his concentration broke, she begged me to do it. She presented her heart to me and I ran my sword between her breasts. I took no joy in that. But she was on the verge of killing Tansy, and you know that I would do anything to protect my sister. Anything.”

“How could she have been about to kill Tansy and still begging you to kill her?”

“She was trying to stab Tansy,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “I stabbed Jon Snow and rushed over to them. I tried to kill Sansa then but slipped and only managed to cut off her foot. She fell and begged me to kill her. So I did.”

My attempt to use a calm, rational voice had only made Randa think me cold and unfeeling, the emotionless killing machine she’d heard me called in whispers throughout the castle.

“She was the only friend I’ve had since childhood.”

“Tansy is your friend,” I said, “and Lyra and Alysane. And so am I.”

“And you killed Sansa.”

“She was already dead,” I repeated. “You saw her die.”

“Part of me wants to believe you,” Randa said, “wants to be your friend again and go off with you and that blacksmith and his friends to live like a Mormont. Fuck who I want, work with my hands and my mind, do something actually _useful_ instead of showing my tits and giggling like I’m a silly little girl. But when I look at you, all I see is you killing Sansa. I know you believe that you did it to save the world but I can’t bring myself to forgive you.

“Ser Wylis has agreed to escort me to White Harbor. I can take ship there back to the Vale. I don’t think we should speak again. Please go now.”

I did not know what I could say, so I stood and left as she had asked. I returned to our chambers, sat on the wide seat in front of the fireplace and cried bitterly. Tansy found me there not long afterwards.

“It didn’t go well?”

I shook my head, unsure that I could speak clearly.

“She blames you for Sansa’s death?”

I nodded.

“She’s afraid of you?”

“Do not know,” I managed to choke out.

She took my hands in hers.

“Dejah. You were a princess. Everyone loved you. They had no choice.”

I nodded again, knowing this to be true.

“You’re not a princess here. Your grandfather can’t cut peoples’ heads off for being mean to you.”

“He would not do that.”

“You know what I mean. We have choices. I chose to love you and to be your sister. Lyra chose the same. Maege. Jory. Beth. Davos. Gendry. Trisha. We all chose to love you and we didn’t have to.”

“I love you too.”

“I know you do, sweetling,” Tansy said as she stroked my hair. “But listen to me. A choice isn’t a choice if it’s the only one available. Unless someone chooses not to love you, then does it really matter that all of us did? If no one takes the other choice, then did a choice ever really exist?”

“I wanted her to like me.”

“She did, and then something bad happened that wasn’t your fault. She’s not a bad person.”

“I know.”

I pulled my feet up onto the long chair/bed furniture and put my head in Tansy’s lap. I suppose I fell asleep there, because I woke up later to find Jory lying with me in front of the fire and my other sisters piled into the bed.

I tossed more wood onto the fire, and then played with Jory’s unbraided hair while I fell back into sleep. Friendship in this world without telepathy required hard work. And even with hard work, it would not always come about. I could not apologize for killing Sansa, and resolved that if this ever came up again I would not. Beth and Jeyne, who had been Sansa’s childhood friends, had accepted my actions as necessary as had Lyra and Alysane.

I would have to accept some things about this world that had become my home. I could not make Randa forgive me for killing Sansa and resume our friendship, and I very likely would never see her again. I could not make Beth Cassel love me as a sister; she might well change her mind but it was not something I could force on her.

* * *

When the sun rose, we six women - myself, Tansy, Lyra, Jory, Beth and Trisha - dressed in our Mormont blacks and trooped down to the castle courtyard to perform our exercises. As usual, a few people stopped to watch us for a few moments as they went about their morning work, and I probed their thoughts when they regarded me.

Several times, I encountered resentment for my failure to save Arya and Sansa Stark. They had been beloved by the people of Winterfell, and had I been a proper hero I would have brought them back here alive. Instead I had allowed one daughter to be killed by my failure in battle, and killed the other myself. And I had killed Jon Snow. That I had saved all of them from a fate literally worse than death did not balance the deaths of three such beloved individuals. More accurately, they resented the deaths of two beloved daughters of Winterfell and a barely-tolerated bastard.

We had First Meal in our chambers afterwards. Lyra left us briefly and returned with Gendry. The invitation confused my young blacksmith friend, and Lyra’s thoughts asked me to remain quiet, though I could not determine exactly what she had in mind. Trisha made to leave, but Lyra asked her to remain.

“I met with the Lords of the North last night,” Lyra said. “Those present in Winterfell: Lady Cerwyn, Lord Glover, Ser Davos, Ser Wylis Manderly representing his father, and me, representing Mother. You know that between us we hold royal power in the North, following the death of King Robb and all his heirs.”

We all nodded.

“We discussed some of you. Tansy is my sister through adoption. I have the decree of adoption here.”

She pulled a rolled scroll of thin animal skin from inside her tunic, and handed it to Tansy.

“I could still,” she told Tansy, “get them to issue a decree legitimizing you.”

“Not unless you do it as well.”

“I have no shame in my birth.”

“Then neither will I.”

Lyra smiled at her. I knew this meant a great deal to both of them, but the concept is alien to my people – since eggs are fertilized outside the body under strict supervision, there is never a question of parentage.

“And I have the decree of adoption for Dejah Thoris, daughter of Mors Kajak and Princess Heru. This does not replace your existing family relationships.”

She handed me a scroll as well, but I could not read it.

“You’re family name’s not Thoris?” Tansy asked.

“It is complicated,” I said. “My personal name is Dejah Thoris, my family name is Kajak.”

“Next, I have an identical decree for Beth Cassel, daughter of Ser Rodrik Cassel and Bethany Mormont. It likewise does not change your Cassel relationships. You need not accept, and we will respect your choice if you do not.”

“I do accept,” Beth said. “I want this very much.”

She took the scroll from Lyra, smiled, and tucked it away.

“These make you three the seventh, eighth and ninth in line to rule House Mormont, though I believe Beth’s place is unchanged as she is already my mother’s niece. At the time Mother entered the first two adoptions in the Book of the North she believed Tansy older than Dejah; I don’t suppose you care?”

She looked at me. I shook my head. She turned to my red-haired friend.

“Trisha, you’re an officer now. That raises you to the gentry, and as you’re not married, you’ll need a family name.”

“Kajak,” she said immediately, then looked to me and flushed. “If that’s alright with you.”

“I am deeply honored,” I said, and truthfully, I was.

Lyra filled in Trisha’s new name on two copies of a document, and handed one to her.

“Finally, I have a decree of legitimacy for Gendry Baratheon, son of Robert. I know it was presumptuous, but I didn’t know when we might have the minimum of four Lords present again and Mother wanted this offered to you before you came to Bear Island.”

“Thank you, Lady Mormont,” Gendry said. Surrounded by fierce women, he was somewhat intimidated. “What does it really mean?”

“It wipes away the stain of bastardry, but you knew that, and it would matter not on Bear Island in any event – Trisha, Dejah and Beth are the only ones here who aren’t bastards under Southron law. But you’re right, this sword comes with two edges.”

I noted how Lyra seemed older, more regal, when acting in her mother’s place. I knew Alysane to be a fitting heir for House Mormont, but my adoptive house would be in good hands were it to fall to her younger sister.

“It also makes you heir to House Baratheon, a dispossessed house,” she continued. “So you would have a claim to the castle at Storm’s End and rule over the Stormlands, and perhaps to the Iron Throne itself.”

“I don’t want those things.”

“I don’t blame you. With Dejah’s aid you might have a very small chance of taking them by force. But I’m sure Mother would forbid her sisters from assisting and I doubt she would go without us.”

“I was with her in Harrenhal, milady,” Gendry said. “I imagine it would be far more than a small chance. But it truly doesn’t matter. Like the princess, I don’t want to play the game of thrones. I’d rather go to your island, pound hot metal and be forgotten by the rest of Westeros, if you’ll let me.”

“Certainly. Dejah and Tansy speak highly of both your skill and your character.”

“That’s kind of them, milady. And thank you for the decree. Will it place me in danger? And you?”

“No more than you already were. Whatever tiny risk we take in harboring you is more than balanced by your skills. Mother wishes it, and it will please Dejah.”

“You looked after me when no one but Tansy did,” I added. “I would do the same for you.”

“Thank you, ladies, princess,” he said. “I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

“Mother warned that there are ambitious men and women who would hope to use you to seize power,” Lyra said. “We have no such hopes. Our wish is to see Bear Island happy and prosperous again and by extension, the North. We fought and died for House Stark, but now that house is no more. We belong on our island. We’ll not ask you to leave it unless that is your wish.”

“You’d protect me from the King?”

“It’s a long way from King’s Landing to Bear Island,” Lyra said. “And the path is barred by Dejah Thoris and her sisters. I’m not concerned.” 

* * *

That afternoon we began the interviews in a small room provided by Ser Davos. Lyra and I spoke with Gendry’s people as he brought them to us one by one.

The very first was the most pleasing: Arya’s friend Hot Pie! He was nervous as he sat facing us, and I tried to calm him.

“Hot Pie makes the most wonderful pies,” I told Lyra. “He is a baker of extraordinary skill.”

“You wish to come to Bear Island?” my sister asked.

“I want to be somewhere where no one burns you out just for living,” he said. “Making people happy with breads and tarts and such, is what I like best. Milady. Sorry.”

“We’re not so formal. I believe the princess would like you to work in our Keep, baking for the Mormont family.”

“I believe I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that just fine.”

“You know,” I said, “that Arya died after we left you.”

“You couldn’t protect her?”

“Freys attacked us. She did not obey me, and joined the fighting. One of them stabbed her through the heart.”

Hot Pie began to cry.

“When I saw you, I hoped that meant Arry would be with you.”

“I did not wish for her to die. I hope you will forgive me.”

“The best warrior can’t protect everyone all the time. I seen that right often. I know you loved her just like I did. Like we all did.”

His memories had confused me with my sister Tansy. To my shame, I did not correct him.

“There’s a place for you with us,” Lyra said. “If you wish.”

“You have a kitchen?”

“We’ve recently acquired enough ovens for a full bakery,” she said, ‘if only we had a master baker.”

“You do now. Milady. My ladies. Thank you.”

He got up and awkwardly bowed, then hurried out of the room without waiting for dismissal.

“You will see,” I told Lyra. “Finding Hot Pie here was worth the trip to Winterfell all by itself.”

The other interviews proved far less interesting. Almost all of the candidates seemed safe enough; from their thoughts I picked up indications that Gendry had already screened them. None had been customers of Tansy, or knew of her life as a whore. A few recalled her from our days in the hollow hill. Mostly Lyra asked questions to determine where to send them on the island and what sort of work they might perform. Most were farmers.

Only one of the people Gendry presented seemed obviously a criminal, a man who had committed a number of rapes of young women. His thoughts showed a wish to inflict pain on women, to rip the tunics from myself and my adoptive sister and slash our faces and breasts with a knife while he raped us. I followed him into the corridor when he left, calling softly to him as he reached the top of a long set of stairs. I could detect no thoughts in the corridor or stairwell.

“I knew you wanted me,” he said. “You’re a regular red vixen.”

I stepped close to him, and placed my hand on his chest, over his heart.

“I do want you,” I said, lowering my voice into a husky tone, causing him to relax. “I want you to die.”

I shoved him very hard, backwards down the stairs. I prepared to follow and finish him, but he struck the opposite wall with his head and died almost immediately. I returned to the little room where Lyra awaited me.

“What was that?” she asked.

“He had an accident,” I said. “He will not be coming to the island.”

Lyra sighed.

“You can’t just murder inconvenient people.”

“You are upset with me?”

“I’m not happy, no.” She shook her head. “I assume he wanted to rape and murder us?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not upset with you,” she said. “Well, maybe a little. You simply must be more discreet about killing people.”

“He fell down the stairs,” I said. “People fall down stairs.”

“You helped him.”

“Possibly.”

She placed her head in her hands, then looked up at me.

“This is something we never have to consider. I mean, the people of this world. We punish people, or kill them, for what they’ve done, not what they might do. But mind-reading means you know a lot more about what they might do.”

“It was not a . . .” I did not know how to express the legal concepts, “a punishment under the law. That man was a danger to you and especially to Jory. He liked raping girls. Thoughts like that are no different than waving a knife and screaming one’s intentions aloud. So I killed him. A justified act under our laws.”

“Don’t bring up Jory,” Lyra snapped. “The act has to stand on its own, and if you’re found out, it’s tried under our laws, not yours. You believed him too dangerous to live.”

“I did.”

“You left the body on the stairs?”

“Yes.”

She stood.

“We probably should do something with the body.”

Gendry opened the door before I could answer.

“There’s been an accident,” he said. “Looks like Eldon fell down the stairs and broke his neck.”

“A terrible accident,” I said. “One must be careful on stairs.”

“Yes,” Gendry said, looking at me and wondering what I knew. “Very careful.”

A pair of Winterfell soldiers came and took the body away. None of the Winterfell people knew Eldon, so no one demanded justice. We left the little room for Evening Meal while the soldiers worked, joining Tansy in the castle’s Great Hall at a corner table far from anyone else.

“She killed someone again,” Lyra said in a whisper. “A Brotherhood warrior who liked raping girls and inflicting pain.”

My actions obviously distressed my adoptive sister, and now Tansy as well.

“Again?” Tansy asked.

“She killed the rider on the road to Castle Black,” Lyra answered

“Beth killed him,” I clarified. “He was one of Ramsay Bolton’s henchmen.”

“She killed him at your command,” Lyra said. “And now another?”

“He was also a bad man,” I said. “I have no regrets.”

“Dejah,” Tansy said. “I told you just yesterday. You’re not in Helium any more, and you’re not a princess here. You don’t have the power to just kill anyone who annoys you.”

“He was not an annoyance. He was a threat.”

“I understand that,” Tansy said. “And I know you would give your life for me, for any of us. We’re worried about you.”

“What would you have me do differently?”

“Just talk to me or to Lyra before you do something like that again. Not Beth; she’ll encourage you and want to help.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lyra added. “I can’t imagine anyone adjusting to a completely new world until many, many years had gone by. Maybe not ever.”

I had disappointed the two people who mattered most to me in this world, when I had only thought to protect them. Tansy was right; in Helium, there would have been no repercussions for my actions; thanks to my royal status, there would have been few if any consequences even without his thoughts of harming me or my sisters.

Our visit to Winterfell had been extremely unhappy so far. We had found Hot Pie and Gendry, which pleased me very much, but I had lost the friendship of Myranda Royce, earned the dislike of most inhabitants of the castle and distressed Lyra and Tansy. And all of that could be traced to my proclivity for murder. It was true that I had had no choice in killing Sansa Stark, but what did it say about me that I had been able to do so without hesitation, and without remorse?

We still had interviews to conduct, and then trade negotiations. I would have to remain at Winterfell for at least some days yet. During that time, I resolved, I would kill no one else unless they directly threatened one of us with a weapon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris receives orgasm.


	70. Chapter Fifty (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris receives orgasm.

Chapter Fifty (Dejah Thoris)

I slept uneasily that night, though my sisters sensed my distress and tried to re-assure me; Lyra kept her arm wrapped tightly around me. We had First Meal in our chambers, and resumed the interviews afterwards. This time Trisha, Tansy and Beth joined us, while Jory served as her mother’s eyes and ears during the interminable meetings of the Lords of the North, with both Jarack and Trevan watching over her.

The first two candidates I recognized from our time under the hill, women named Meg and Melly. Both had left the group before my arrival and returned after I slew the Stone Heart, the dead woman who had been Catelyn Stark in life. Meg had been one of the few women to fight, though she was rather small and slender and I did not recall her as being particularly skilled in arms. Yet she gave no signs of potential betrayal, and wished to train as a warrior. I did not hold out much hope for her in this regard, but cleared her to immigrate to Bear Island.

Melly had served as a healer, helping to treat wounded warriors, and we could certainly use her skills. She looked much older than her actual years, and had been recruited by Gendry. I was pleased to see the broad-shouldered warrior Crodell and several of the deer hunters, all of whom I welcomed to join us.

None of the others stood out to me, and I passed all of them: a few were long-time fighters, but mostly dispossessed farmers who felt themselves forced to take up arms. Four complete families had made the journey as well.

I recognized the last person Gendry brought to us, the pretty young woman named Pia who Tansy and I had found having sex in the forest with the Lannister’s squire. She had been forced to become a whore for the garrison of Harrenhal, the one replaced by the Holy Hundred, and did not wish to ever do so again. She had no useful skills beyond giving sexual pleasure and washing laundry, but I had discovered a new-found respect for laundresses. I passed her.

“Are you sure they’re all acceptable?” Lyra asked after I’d approved Pia. “I don’t want you to feel you have to do so just because of what happened yesterday.”

“I can never be completely sure,” I said. “But I promised not to kill anyone without speaking to you and Tansy first, unless they are wielding a weapon. So I have been even more careful in probing their thoughts. I believe Gendry had already selected acceptable recruits.”

Gendry entered the room.

“There are two more,” he said. “I think you know them, princess.”

He waved to someone in the corridor. The two mentally deficient individuals we had liberated from Harrenhal’s underground warehouse entered and stood side-by-side in front of us.

“Tits!” they exclaimed, pointing at first my breasts, then Beth’s, then Lyra’s and finally Tansy’s. They passed over my friend Trisha. “Tits! Tits!”

“You say that again,” Beth said, “and I’ll kick you right in the bollocks.”

“No hurt Harpo!” the fat one mewled. “Harpo be good.”

“Harpo bad,” his friend said. “Kill him dead, pretty lady. Stab him with your sword.”

“Silence,” I said. They fell silent.

“You will not use that word again.”

“What word?” the fat one asked.

“‘Tits’,” the taller one said. “Tom smart. Harpo stupid.”

“Never again,” I said.

“Never again,” they repeated together.

“Have we a use for them?” I asked Lyra.

“How have they survived this long?” she asked Gendry.

“Truly,” he said. “I have no idea, Lady Lyra. It seems impossible to me, but, well, here they are.”

“What work can they do?” she asked.

“Warehouse!” the one named Tom said, proudly. “Harpo and Tom work warehouse.”

“We have no warehouses on Bear Island.”

“Harpo and Tom work warehouse,” he repeated. She looked at me; I shook my head.

“I’ll speak to Ser Davos,” Lyra said. “I expect there’s plenty of warehouse work in Winterfell.” 

* * *

With the interviews complete, Tansy and I met Ser Davos and his wife, Marya, for Mid-Day Meal in the castle’s “solar.” We wore our close-fitting black tunics and leggings, with green Mormont surcoats. Ser Davos had a pair of unexpected guests, and apologized for changing arrangements without notice. He seated them to his left and right, a fat man in Night’s Watch black garb named Samwell Tarly, and a woman named Gilly, one of the Free Folk. I sat beside Gilly and Tansy next to Samwell, with Marya taking the place at the opposite end of the table.

Gilly stared at the first course, a bowl of onion soup. Ser Davos began all such meals with onion soup. Ser Davos, having sailed the world, deployed eating utensils rarely seen in these lands. Gilly’s thoughts showed mortal terror of being thought uncouth. I pushed my fork off the edge of the table with my elbow; when she leaned over to pick it up, I whispered into her hair.

“I am a stranger here as well. Watch my sister Tansy and imitate her.”

“Thank you,” I said in my normal voice. “Ser Davos said that you have crossed all of Westeros?”

“Aye,” she said. “We did. Sam found us a wagon. I was frightened for my son.”

“You are of the Free Folk. How did you come to marry Sam?”

“We isn’t married. He saved me from . . . my father, and from the White Walkers. He killed one, he did.”

“He is a brave man,” I said. “They were terrible enemies, fast and strong and having no mercy.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say. I liked Gilly very much and wanted to make her comfortable.

“You doesn’t say ‘wildling’,” she said.

“I have friends here from the Free Folk. Tormund, Toregg, Munda and Ryk. Do you know them?”

“No. I’m . . . I didn’t live with the other Free Folk. I grew up in an, another place.”

Craster’s Keep. I had been there. She did not wish to speak of it.

“Princess,” Samwell Tarly said, hoping to cover for Gilly’s nervousness. “Ser Davos says you’ve been to the Wall. Is the Watch still there?”

“I am afraid not,” I said. “Castle Black is empty. We found notes you wrote there; I remember your name. We rode along the Wall and found two men of the Watch. We gave them horses and they rode for Winterfell.”

“Ser Denys Mallister was one,” Ser Davos said. “The other never gave his name, but rode on south. Ser Denys died not long after his arrival, the ride stressed him greatly.”

“He was extremely old,” Samwell said. “We had met but I didn’t know him well.”

“Your Watch has ended,” Ser Davos continued. “What will you do now?”

“I . . . I don’t know. Jon Snow sent me to the Citadel to become a maester. I left before finishing because I’d learned things that he needed to know. But if there’s no Watch, then what of its Lord Commander?”

Ser Davos looked at me. I nodded to him and spoke.

“His brothers killed him,” I said. “I do not know why. Tormund believed they opposed his alliance with the Free Folk.”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” the fat man said. “They hated him for it, some of them anyway. But what of all the rest?”

“He rose from the dead, as the Night’s King. The Night’s King slaughtered the Watch and most of the Free Folk, killed Sansa Stark and made her his Night’s Queen, and challenged Azor Ahai to single combat.”

“And then?”

“She fought him at the base of the Wall, and put her flaming sword through his heart. Ramming the flaming sword into the Wall killed the Others as well.”

“She? You?”

“I killed your best friend, Samwell Tarly. I am sorry, but it was necessary.”

I felt a sudden, fierce thought from Gilly at my side. She was glad that I had killed Jon Snow.

“This is all true?” Samwell asked Ser Davos.

“Aye,” said the Onion Knight. “The Princess saved the world of the living.”

Samwell sighed, a lengthy sigh, and stared at his newly-arrived plate of roasted pork with potatoes and mushrooms.

“Jon was my friend,” he finally said, in a choked voice. “Only friend I ever had. He saw it coming, that’s why he sent me away.”

“Are you well?” Marya Seaworth asked. “Do you need some time to yourself?”

She feared that he would cry, and she did not wish him to feel ashamed.

“No, my lady,” he said. “Thank you. I’m glad the Princess succeeded. I read as much as I could about the dead, the Night’s King, all of it. I knew we could kill the Others, but somehow, we would have to kill the Night’s King or it was all for naught.

“I don’t think he could have been killed any other way. You had the sword Lightbringer?”

“I had my sword,” I said, “of Valyrian steel. I thrust it between the willing breasts of Sansa Stark and it came alight with fire. When I ran it through the heart of the Night’s King, he burned to ash.”

“It had to happen,” Samwell said. “I can see it all now. Jon was doomed, maybe from birth, definitely from when he took the black. It all played out as it had before.”

He paused for a moment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be morbid.”

“Not at all,” Tansy took up the challenge, looking to cheer the table. “So, what will you do now?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “What do you suggest?”

“Marry Gilly,” Tansy said.

“Become our maester,” Ser Davos added.

“Raise a family,” Marya Seaworth said.

“All three,” I said.

Gilly had become very quiet. Her thoughts showed fear that Samwell would leave her here, now that the threat of the Night’s King had ended, and return to his home. I could tell that he feared and hated that place and would not leave her, but she did not know that.

“It will be fine,” I whispered to her.

“Where is your family home?” I asked Samwell, hoping that he would voice his thoughts aloud if prompted.

“In the Reach,” he said. “We visited. My father and brother were cruel to Gilly, and to me. My brother disappeared while on campaign and that seems to have made Father hate me even more. I miss my mother and sister, but Horn Hill is not my home whilst my father lives.”

His brother was Dickon Tarly. I had buried my sword in his skull and buried his corpse in a hidden forest grave. I had killed both Samwell’s brother of the heart and his brother of the egg.

Tansy had made the same connection. _Do not say a word_ , her thoughts broadcast strongly to me.

“No,” I said aloud. “I will not lie about what I have done.”

The others stared at me, assuming Tansy had given me some sort of signal by way of facial expression or kicked me under the table.

“Samwell,” I said, slowly. “Maester Tarly.”

“Sam.”

“Sam. I must tell you the truth. I will understand if you hate me for it.”

“I know you killed Jon. But he was already dead. I don’t blame you.”

“No,” I said. “It is worse. I fought Dickon Tarly in battle, in the Riverlands. I killed him as well.”

“Oh,” he said. “I . . .”

“Don’t you hate her, Sam,” Gilly broke in, speaking rapidly. “They said you wasn’t part of their family. They treated you like dirt, and they sent you to the Wall to die. Your brother was a hateful bully and you know someone would have killed him eventually. The Princess is . . . is good.”

She reached into my lap and squeezed my hand where it lay there.

“I’m sorry,” she jerked her hand away, suddenly bashful. “I shouldn’t touch a princess.”

“No,” I said, taking her hand back. “I would like us to be friends. I have killed many people. I thought I did the right thing, but even bad people have friends and family. I have made many enemies.”

“Gilly’s right,” Samwell said. “I knew what Dickon was. He would have been killed, or worse, lived to become even more a tyrant than Father.”

“I do not believe I have killed anyone else known to you.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“How come you two is sisters?” Gilly said suddenly; her thoughts said she wished for a new, happier subject.

“I came here from far away, searching for my husband,” I said. “I fear he is not in Westeros. I met Tansy when I was very lonely, and she was willing to be my friend. She said I was more her sister than her friend. In my lands we grow up very fast, and usually there is only one child in a family at a time. So later we choose our own brothers and sisters.”

“They are now actual sisters,” Marya Seaworth added. “House Mormont adopted both Tansy and Dejah. I mean, the princess.”

“Please call me Dejah,” I said. “And yes, we were adopted. I love my new family.”

“I had sisters growing up,” Gilly said. “But they was cruel. Not as bad as Sam’s family. But we had no love.”

We had been through all of the food and the servant now brought the wonderful stimulant drink known as coffee.

“So,” Ser Davos began his offer to Samwell. “Maester Tarly. Sam. We have no maester in this castle, and the Watch is no more. It seems like we have a need for one another. Would you consent to remain here and take up the post?”

“I didn’t finish the full course, but I have what we call a warrant, an exception if you will, that allows me to serve as maester to Castle Black. I suppose it would allow the same here.”

“We don’t have a lord,” Ser Davos pointed out. “So perhaps that balances things.”

“Since you didn’t finish your studies,” Tansy said, “that means the ban on marriage doesn’t apply to you, doesn’t it?”

“I . . . I suppose so. But I’m a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch.”

“Which has ceased to exist.”

“Can you marry us here?” Gilly asked Ser Davos. “You was a ship captain.”

“Only on my ship,” the Onion Knight smiled. “We have a new septon, but the sept itself was burned and hasn’t been rebuilt.”

“Gilly follows the old gods,” Samwell said. “I’d like that better myself.”

“I keep the Seven,” Ser Davos said. “Or at least I did before . . . certain events. But I believe Lord Glover follows the old gods and can preside. I’m sure he would.”

“Will you stand with me?” Samwell asked Ser Davos.

“Of course, son. It would be my honor.”

“And you with me?” Gilly asked me.

“Truly? Knowing what I have done?”

“You’re a princess who treats me like regular folk. And I don’t know no one else here.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You honor me.” 

* * *

Tansy and I took Gilly with us after the meal; Samwell promised to look after Gilly’s son Little Sam.

“Is Samwell his father?” I asked as we walked to our chambers.

“No. I named him for Sam, because Sam saved our lives.”

Our sisters had not returned, and we sat before the fire in our chambers. Gilly’s thoughts revealed a confused story that I hoped I misunderstood. I did not.

“I was one of Craster’s wives,” Gilly said. She looked at us, expecting to see horror on our faces at the phrase.

“I don’t know what that means,” Tansy said. “You don’t have to tell us.”

“Princess told the truth when she didn’t have to. When she probably should have lied.”

Gilly proceeded to haltingly tell us how her father had kept his daughters as his “wives” and raped them. When they bore children, he left the boys in the snow for the Others to find and raised the girls as a new generation of “wives.” Sometimes he accepted payment from Night’s Watch men, or men of the Free Folk, and allowed them to rape his “wives.” Gilly’s child was therefore also her brother, and her mother also her sister.

She fled Craster’s Keep after the Night’s Watch mutinied and killed the Old Bear, and with Samwell went to Castle Black and later to the Citadel. She loved the fat almost-maester and had been having sex with him for some time. She also loved her child, but had no love for Jon Snow. Gilly greatly approved of my killing Jon Snow and liked me very much. The pain of Randa’s rejection felt somewhat balanced.

Lyra, Beth and Jory arrived as Gilly told her story, and Beth instantly identified with her, sitting next to her and taking her hand in hers.

“You’ll have the best wedding we can make for you,” Lyra promised.

“I already had one wedding,” Gilly said. “That didn’t turn out so well.”

“This one will. We need to find you some clothing.”

“I don’t want to wear no gown. Sam’s family, they poured me into one and then laughed at me in it.”

Jory stood in front of her, looking her over. Gilly stood to face her.

“Something wrong?” she asked, somewhat belligerently.

“No, no,” our little sister quickly corrected. “You’re very pretty. I was wondering how you should be dressed. I was thinking we could find a nice, simple white dress and put a chain of flowers around your neck, loose-like, and more in your hair.”

“Why are you all so nice?”

“We’re not, usually,” Lyra said. “Dejah likes you, and we trust her judgement. And we don’t get to be girls very often.”

We spent the rest of the day with Gilly, drinking wine and trading stories of our adventures. She bathed and Jory found a white dress for her. All six of us walked to the walled forest known as the “godswood” to pick flowers, which we put in water to keep them fresh for the next morning.

“Why do you like me?” Gilly asked me as she and I walked together through the godswood. My sisters were nearby seeking flowers, but out of hearing range. “No one else does, ’cept the men who want to fuck.”

“As I told you, I am also a stranger here. I do not understand the ways of the people around me. I say and do things they find odd, silly, stupid or wrong. You are a good person all the same, and that gives me hope.”

“I lied.”

“The boy is not your son.”

“You’ll not tell no one?”

“I will not,” I said. “Where is your own son?”

“Jon Snow took him.”

Jory and Beth approached before she could say more.

“Friends keep each other’s secrets,” I whispered. “I will keep yours.”

* * *

Samwell and Gilly married at mid-day. Samwell awaited us underneath the giant white tree in the godswood, flanked by Ser Davos and Lord Glover. He was somewhat unsteady; my soldiers Trevan and Jarack had plied him with a great deal of ale the night before. Marya Seaworth, Hallis Mollen, Ser Wylis, Trisha, Lady Jonelle and Munda, Tormund’s daughter, waited with them. Munda held Little Sam in her arms; he seemed quite taken with the broad-shouldered Free Woman. No one else from the castle had come.

Gilly wore the white dress we had selected, with flowers in her hair and in a necklace Jory had woven. She also held a bundle of flowers. Samwell wore a clean set of Night’s Watch black leggings, tunic and cloak.

We entered the godswood in a double column; I walked beside Gilly with my sisters behind us two by two. I wore my Mormont colors, as did all of my sisters except Tansy. When we reached Lord Glover I stood next to Gilly, and when Lord Glover asked who presented her I said that I did so. Ser Davos did the same for Samwell. Lord Glover spoke a short time about the blessings of marriage; his thoughts wavered on whether he wished to enjoy them himself. Then he nodded to me and I removed the Mormont cloak from Gilly’s shoulders. Samwell replaced it with a plain black Night’s Watch cloak. Lord Glover invoked the blessings of their gods, and with that, they were married.

Samwell and Gilly led the way back to Ser Davos’ small private dining hall, formerly that of the castle’s lord. Little Sam walked between them and I found myself alongside Munda. I had not spoken with her very often.

“I did not know that you knew Samwell and Gilly,” I said.

“Met them at the Wall,” she answered. “She’s of the Free Folk, and didn’t seem right that none of us would be here.”

It bothered her that none of her friends had attended, yet she did not seem at ease about the marriage. The shifting order of our little march swept her away from me before I could ask any more.

Marya Seaworth had organized the feast in the small dining hall, placing four guests at each small table. I shared one with Lyra, Mollen and Lord Glover; I noted that Marya had placed Beth at a table occupied only by women, with herself, Jory and Munda.

Mollen remained quiet throughout the dinner, intimidated by the presence of a great lord and by Lyra’s beauty; he had become used to me. The newly-married couple came to each table to thank their guests, and exchange a toast with wine. Marya Seaworth had ordered a fine feast with several roasted meats including those of sheep, deer and pig. I enjoyed the meal very much, and though I relied on Lyra’s instructions regarding etiquette I was very proud that I barely needed her help.

Finally, the meal began to wind down. Ser Davos stood and held his arms in the air.

“And now it seems the feast has concluded,” he said, loudly. “Let us all wish the newly wedded good fortune.”

Everyone stood and held their wine glasses or goblets toward Samwell and Gilly, and then drank. They stood and thanked us, then left together, hand-in-hand. I was glad no one attempted the barbaric “bedding” ritual; I felt in very good spirits and did not wish to kill anyone. 

* * *

As we left the dining hall, Lyra pulled me aside into a small alcove in the corridor. Tansy looked back at us, and went on when Lyra nodded at her. They had apparently already discussed whatever Lyra needed to tell me.

“Dejah,” she said softly, “I won’t be coming back to our chambers, not right away.”

“You are well?”

“I am,” she said. “I hope to be better. I’ll be joining Lady Cerwyn’s new guard captain in his chambers.”

“You wish to receive orgasm from him?”

“We usually dance around it rather than coming out and saying so. But yes.”

“You do not need my permission.”

“I do, in a way,” she said. “I don’t want you to think I’m not willing, and come tear his head off in the middle of love-making.”

I thought to protest, then decided that she was probably right to warn me.

“You’re not upset?” she asked.

“No.”

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

“I’ve done without for a very long time. I need a man inside me.”

She paused, and grinned.

“Maybe someday, if you wanted to come along, you know, in my thoughts . . . I wouldn’t mind. This time though, if you could . . .”

“Respect your privacy?”

“Well, yes,” Lyra said. “I’ll come back right after, so you won’t worry.”

“Thank you.”

“Tansy knows. Not a word to Jory.”

“Not a word.”

She turned toward the section of the castle which housed lower-ranking officials, and I continued on my way to our chambers. Tansy awaited me around the corner, and fell into step beside me.

“She told you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you upset?”

“No.”

“Truly?” Tansy pressed. “No jealousy?”

“Perhaps a little. Jealous of the man who will make love to Lyra, jealous that Lyra will receive orgasm.”

“Only a little?”

“Perhaps more than a little.”

She stopped, and touched the side of my face.

“I know how to distract you. If it would help.”

Beth and Jory had gone to the Seaworths’ chambers for the night, to watch over Little Sam while Samwell and Gilly celebrated their new marriage with uninhibited sex. I now realized that this had not been accidental; Tansy and Lyra had planned this.

“I would like that.” 

* * *

I followed Tansy into our chamber, as nervous as I had been the very first time I had had sex with anyone, a young guardsman who served my grandfather. She walked in front of me and stopped.

“Bar the door,” she said softly, keeping her back turned to me. I did so. When I turned around, she had not moved, but her dress and white underclothing had dropped to the floor. I pulled off my surcoat and tunic, feeling my body relax as the heat trapped by my tunic escaped, and stepped up closely behind her. I trailed my fingers down the outside of her arms, and enjoyed the feel of her bare flesh against mine. We pressed ourselves together this way nearly every night, yet this had a different sensation. One of anticipation and excitement. She leaned back against me and raised her arms behind her head, lifting her breasts. The very light reddish scar made them no less enticing. I took them both in my hands, and her nipples rose against my thumbs.

I leaned over her shoulder; she bent her head back toward me and I kissed her. She turned around, and kissed me again.

“What can I do for you?” she whispered.

“Open your mind,” I whispered back. “Let me feel what you feel.”

“I don’t know how. I don’t do it intentionally.”

“Relax,” I said, deploying my husky seductive voice. “Look into my eyes. Think about me.”

I trailed my fingertips along the side of her face, and kissed her again. I extended my tongue to run it along the edges of hers. She whimpered.

“Think about me,” I whispered. “Relax and look into my eyes.”

I felt the barriers around her mind weaken, and soon I could see my own red eyes looking back at me through her thoughts. I kissed her again.

I had promised to use my tongue to give her orgasm, but her thoughts became more difficult to enter when I looked away from her eyes. I had broken into Tansy’s thoughts before, with her permission, but never had she allowed me in so easily and willingly. I loved this feeling of close communion and, selfishly, I wanted to be in her thoughts when she received orgasm. And I had no doubt that she would receive orgasm.

A tapestry of a wolf’s head hung on the wall next to the fireplace; I pressed Tansy’s back against it and kissed her. Looking into her eyes, I held the side of her face with my left hand and slowly trailed the fingers of my right down her body. I ran them along the full curve of her left breast, pausing to massage the nipple, then down her left flank. Her tongue became more urgent against mine and she moaned; her thoughts, now clear for the first time, filled with love for me. And desire.

I slipped two fingers inside her, then just one. I rubbed it exactly where her thoughts showed me, at first slowly over the small nub, then a little faster. She moaned again, and tried to close her eyes. I broke the kiss.

“Keep looking at me,” I whispered. “Into my eyes. Think about me.”

I felt the first impulses. She began to lose control of her own thoughts. I received an intense surge of emotions, and then could read nothing at all. Inside my own mind came a release that I felt spread down through my body, especially in my nipples. This time I joined her moans; I could feel the pleasure run through my body but could form no actual thoughts. I believe that I whimpered as well.

Only somewhat aware of my surroundings, I slumped against Tansy and then slipped to the side to rest my back against the tapestry alongside her. I remained there for some moments, breathing very hard. I had never felt such exhilaration; my legs shook and I was not sure that I could walk. Tansy took me by the hand and led me to our bed, and I collapsed within. She lay beside me and kissed me.

“I love you,” I said softly, my voice unsteady.

“Did you . . .”

“I think so. I cannot think.”

She snuggled alongside me.

“It will get better.”

I was not sure that I could survive “better.” 

* * *

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. As of someone gently rapping at our chamber door. “It is some visitor,” I muttered to Tansy, “tapping at our chamber door. Only this, and nothing more.”

It was not the raven, but rather Lyra; I had neglected to remove the bar locking the door. I rose and did so. She slipped inside, appearing disheveled but smiling broadly.

“You have had a man inside you?” I whispered.

“Yes. I’m all better now. Are you alright?”

“Why would I not be?”

“You’re a woman, with needs of your own.”

She paused, and looked closely at me.

“You’re glowing.”

“I have had a pleasant evening.”

“She’s glowing, too.”

Tansy had awakened and stood, wrapping a fur cloak around her otherwise nude body.

“No secrets,” she said to Lyra. “Now you have to share.”

I piled more wood on the fire and blew on it until the flames returned, then joined my sisters curled on the wide, soft seat that faced the fireplace. Lyra had shrugged off her dress and wrapped herself in a fur as well; I pulled on a fur to conform but would have preferred to remain naked. Lyra’s thoughts retained the thrill of orgasm, and I was almost as thrilled to see that she felt no disquiet over my oblique admission of sex with Tansy. Or at least only a small amount.

“So you two . . .” she began, sprawled between Tansy and I. Then she shook her head. “No, don’t tell me.”

“I have received orgasm,” I whispered. “It is the first time.”

“I told you not to tell me,” she repeated, but smiled and slapped at me playfully. She was extraordinarily beautiful by the growing firelight, her hair falling loose behind her, yet I still had eyes only for Tansy. On feeling Tansy’s climax, my brain had unleashed a flood of endorphins and other pleasure chemicals that I had never experienced before. Apparently while I lacked the physical means of triggering orgasm, I could enjoy at least some of its wonders. I would have to be careful; I could easily become addicted to these pleasure chemicals.

“So tell,” Tansy prompted Lyra. I knew that the two of them spoke of sex often when alone.

“Rode him hard, put him away wet.”

“You received orgasm as well?” I asked.

“Do you always say that?”

“She does,” Tansy confirmed. “So? Did you?”

“Twice.” She actually giggled. “Once by tongue, once by cock.”

Lyra proceeded to tell how he had serviced her with his tongue, and she had reciprocated. She then straddled him until he received orgasm and she did again as well. I noticed that she never referred to him by name.

“He made sure you finished first?” Tansy asked, feigning surprise.

“Yes. Can you believe it?”

“Not hardly.”

I had many questions, but for once thought about them before speaking and realized that they would seem far more clinical than the mood demanded.

“I don’t have the makings for moon tea at hand,” Tansy said. “But I’m sure they’re here in the castle.”

“No,” Lyra said. “No moon tea.”

I remembered what Tansy had told me about moon tea, but was unsure I understood Lyra’s meaning. This time I blurted out my question.

“Will you not become . . .” I searched my memory for their phrase, “with child?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. It’s part of the Mormont Way, for Mormont women at least. Take your pleasure, take your chances, let the gods decide.”

She looked at me, troubled.

“Please don’t think me some slattern. It’s how I was conceived, how Aly ended up with her children.”

“No,” I said. “You misunderstand. I would never think poorly of you. You are my sister and I love you without question or judgement. I love you both.”

I gently placed my hand on her abdomen.

“I fear for you, carrying a child.”

“It’s dangerous,” she said. “I can’t lie. But that’s what women do. What women of our world do. I’ve never quickened and maybe never will. If I do, I’ll have you with me.”

“You will.”

“You’ve seen the carving on our gates. She has an axe in one hand, a child in the other. That’s what makes us Mormont women.”

“Some of us,” Tansy said. She seemed to have become sad. I remembered her despair over never having had a child.

“None of that,” Lyra said, darting over to kiss her on the cheek. “If it happens, we share, all three of us. Promise?”

Tansy placed her hand atop mine on Lyra’s abdomen.

“Promise,” Tansy and I said together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah's new friend Gilly is in danger.
> 
> Note: Martin gives Jon Snow a pass for stealing Gilly's baby. It's a monstrous act that this Gilly hasn't quietly forgotten.


	71. Chapter Twenty (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter takes his first dragon flight.

Chapter Twenty (John Carter)

This would be the first time I had enjoyed Lynesse together with another woman. I suppose I wished to compare their skills, as I had seldom allowed Doreah to display her claimed abilities, and to feel their distaste for one another as each gave pleasure to her hated rival. They arrived at my bedchamber together, both wearing their golden collars but with Lynesse bearing what I can only call a smirk. Doreah had a blackened eye, and I gestured for her to come closer.

“Who did this?” I asked, knowing it could not have been Lynesse. Belwas had told me that Doreah was a good fighter for a woman.

Doreah hesitated, realized that I already had her answer, and spoke it aloud.

“The Sand Snakes,” she said. “They took me by surprise in the baths. Two of them held my arms, Tyene hit me with the end of her staff. In the face and my lower back.”

I put my hand on her shoulder, gently turned her and pushed her Qartheen dress off her shoulder. She indeed had several large bruises on her back just above her waistline.

“You’ve urinated since?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered, surprised at what she considered an odd question.

“Any blood?”

“No.”

I probed her spine and lower ribs with my fingers; she sucked in her breath but nothing seemed to be broken.

“Come with me. Lynesse, you may return to your chambers. I won’t be needing your services tonight.”

I asked one of the Dothraki guards to summon Princess Arianne and her cousins to the audience chamber. I’d mounted the throne, with Doreah standing next to me, when they entered.

“Ladies,” I said. “Has it been explained to you that it’s impossible to lie to me?”

“I’ve heard it said,” Tyene Sand said. “I’ve heard many things said.”

“You three have placed yourselves under my rule. And you have committed a serious breach. This woman,” I touched Doreah’s arm, “is my property, an Imperial Concubine. And she will remain my property should I marry your cousin. The three of you have harmed her.”

“So she says,” Obara Sand answered.

“So she says, Your Imperial Highness,” I corrected. “She spoke the truth to me. I’m of a mind to have the three of you whipped by the Dothraki. But we’ll do this more informally. Approach the throne.”

“My lord,” Arianne interjected. “These are my cousins. By extension, your family.”

“No,” I said. “They’re my subjects, and thus my property, as is Doreah.”

“We’re free women,” Tyene said. “Subject to my uncle the Prince of Dorne, not to you.”

“And where is Prince Doran?” I asked. “He sent you to me to pledge the fealty of House Martell and the remainder of Dorne. When you knelt before me, you became my subjects. My property. You’ve had freedom and respect thanks to my esteem for your cousin, but do not mistake that for weakness. You belong to me no less than does Doreah.”

Despite their resentment, the three women moved to stand in a row before the throne, unsure what I intended.

“Whatever this is,” Arianne said, “I object.”

“Doreah is an Imperial Concubine,” I said. “An assault on her is an insult to me. And I will not be insulted. Doreah, you may punch each of them, once, in the face.”

“No,” Arianne objected again.

“My princess,” I said. “You will remember your own place and be silent. Either Doreah strikes them, or I will have Ko Ogo ram lances up their bungholes and mount them in the central plaza to dangle until they’re dead. Those are the only choices.”

Arianne fell silent. I gestured to Doreah, knowing she had worked extensively with Belwas in hand-to-hand combat and would definitely leave a mark on the Dornishwomen. And so she did.

“Now that we’re clear on this,” I said, “let me repeat myself. I am your sovereign and your master. All five of you belong to me, and an assault on any of you is an insult to me. Try me again and it’s worth your lives.”

I picked up a random thought.

“Lady Tyene,” I said. “Should Doreah be found dead, whatever the cause, all three of you will ride poles. You may wish to assure her safety.”

The four Dornishwomen stormed away, but said no more.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Doreah said when they had gone. “You know I’ll pay for it.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” I said. “As you’re well aware, this was an opportunity to make clear their submission, both themselves and their kingdom. And that warning goes in both directions. I don’t want to find any of them with a stiletto hole in her back.”

“I’d never do that,” she said. “I’d do it face-to-face. Find one of those bitches with a stiletto wound over her heart, and it was probably me who did for her.”

I paid little attention to her remark at the time. I would recall it later, after Doreah had fallen under the spell and into the bed of the she-demon Dejah Thoris.

* * *

Each morning I first received reports from the Civic Guard before sparring with Syrio and sometimes Rastifa, who was showing me the Hyrkoon steel whip known as an urumi. Only a very few could master the odd weapon. On this morning a pair of Civic Guards officers brought me a suspected assassin, who turned out to be yet another of the so-called “Faceless Men” of Braavos.

This made the sixth such attempt, three by men and three by women including the current assassin. Like the others, she refused to reveal any information about her employer and willed herself to die before I could extract any details from her mind. She had been disguised as a servant, but I suspected that she intended to take the place of one of the women close to me. I was glad the Guards had found her out before she had the chance to harm any of my household.

After instructing the Guards to dispose of her corpse, I took extra joy in seeing my princess alive and wholly herself.

“My chieftain,” Daenerys said as servants spread our breakfast before us. “I’m told there was trouble with Doreah yesterday.”

“The Sand Snakes beat her,” I said. “With Arianne’s approval.”

“I know you don’t like Doreah,” my princess said. “And she makes me so angry sometimes that I wish to beat her myself. She says things that I know are meant to be insulting but I can’t explain exactly why. But she was my friend when I had none, and has given me so much good advice. And now Arianne and I . . . I’m in a difficult position. I can’t favor a slave over a princess.”

She had enjoyed carnal relations with Arianne, and looked forward to doing so with all three of us together again.

“I’m troubled as well,” I said. “The Honored Lizhi cautions against a marriage with Arianne at this time. The Sand Snakes’ behavior makes me consider that she may well be right.”

“Is it true that you allowed Doreah to beat each Sand Snake with a spear-butt?”

“They had beaten her with one. I allowed her to punch each of them once, in the face, to remind them that their place is no greater than hers. I am their Emperor, their master, and they needed a reminder. But I must admit that Doreah hits even harder than I expected.”

“What about Arianne and Rastifa?” my princess asked. “Do you still intend to marry them?”

“I’m swayed by Lizhi’s counsel,” I said. “I’m thinking to marry Rastifa now and announce a betrothal to Arianne. We can marry her when her father follows through on his promises. In Westeros, so the nobility there can see one of their own wed their conquerors.”

“Lord Tyrion says you should only have one wife,” Daenerys said. “That Westeros won’t accept foreign customs.”

“Lord Tyrion is a drunken fool,” I said. “What I’ve heard called a ‘kushner,’ someone who believes they’ve gained wisdom and experience solely through birth or marriage. They vastly overestimate their abilities, and believe they’ve earned their privilege and position. Tyrion’s amusing, but he was exiled for a reason.”

“He says it weakens my rule if I am but one of several queens or empresses.”

“All of you will be my Empresses,” I said. “And the power shall be mine, won with my sword as it has been thus far. Each Empress must be a woman I can trust with power on her own, out of my sight. I can trust you. I can trust Rastifa the Beautiful. I am not convinced that I can trust Arianne.”

I exaggerated; I did not trust Daenerys with power out of my sight. Fortunately, her political advisor was too great a fool to understand this.

“I’ve had little to do with Rastifa,” Daenerys said, also shading the truth, as she still resented the Hyrkoon princess for siding with Aggo and Rakharo to overrule her at Astapor and Yunkai. “I don’t know her as well as I do Arianne.”

“You wish Arianne to be your sister-wife?”

“If I must have one, she would be my choice. Rastifa seems . . . a very serious person.”

By which she meant, a woman who did not enjoy sexual congress with other women.

“She does not have to join us in our bed chamber,” I said. “The Hyrkoon know little of such things, and I doubt she would feel excluded.”

“Lord Tyrion thinks that you intend to leave her in Essos, when we sail for Westeros.”

For once, the dwarf had guessed correctly. I considered that I had preferred hearing Doreah constantly quoted rather than Tyrion.

“That’s the Honored Lizhi’s counsel,” I said. “Someone must rule in my name when we leave these lands. None of the Dothraki _ko_ s are suited for the task. With the aid of the khaleen, I trust Rastifa to carry out my will more than any of my lieutenants save perhaps Selmy. And I’ve promised to let him die in Westeros.”

“Do we need Meereen? Can we not simply abandon it and march west?”

“I knew a shopkeeper once,” I said, which was true though I did not remember his name. “He liked to tell people, ‘You break it, you bought it.’ We broke Meereen. It’s our responsibility now.”

She nodded, only somewhat persuaded.

“In practical terms,” I continued, “the four cities are a base of power, a source of money, manpower and materiel. A major war, such as we’ll likely face in Westeros, consumes enormous quantities of all three.”

“Very well,” Daenerys said, realizing that she would be the sole Empress of Westeros, and had even less care for what happened to Meereen and its people once she departed than she did now. “Marry her. Make her your Empress. I will crown her myself if you wish.”

* * *

As I descended the steps to the conference room where Skahaz and Grazdan awaited to discuss the telegraph and labor corps projects, Tyrion Lannister intercepted me. For once he seemed sober, and when he asked for a moment, I stopped rather than force him to match my stride with his small legs. I gestured for Doreah, who carried several rolled maps and her notes, to proceed without me. The Sand Snakes were many levels below, entertaining themselves with a ball game of Dorne.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked, knowing it had something to do with our return to Westeros.

“Your Grace,” he began, “excuse me, Your Imperial Highness. About our return to Westeros. I understand you intend to take King’s Landing at the point of your sword.”

“You understand correctly.”

“Perhaps I might offer some advice, on how to best take the city.”

“Without killing your brother, you mean.”

He started, shocked that I had delved directly to the point of this conversation. Daenerys had not, apparently, told him of my telepathic abilities. I decided not to enlighten him.

“I, well, yes. I would like Jaime to be spared.”

I sighed.

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” I said. “My princess demands his life, for the murder of her father at his hands. A man he’d sworn on his life to protect. And I’ve promised the actual execution to another of my followers, who also carries a deadly grudge.”

“And if I successfully plead with Empress Daenerys?”

“Then I’ll consider clemency,” I said, “for he did me no wrong. But the interests of the other party would have to be considered as well. I’ll not go back on my word.”

I had never known of anyone exacting vengeance against their own killer; Jaime Lannister had murdered Meris, then known as Brienne, in a most craven manner and I found her claim on his life a righteous one.

“Might I ask who this is, so that I might make my case to them as well?”

“It was spoken in confidence, and shall remain there. Now, I have two gentlemen awaiting. If you’ll excuse me.”

“One more moment, if I might.”

“Make it a quick moment.”

“I’d just remind you, that the Sand Snakes have been welcomed here, yet they murdered my niece, Myrcella, for the sin of Lannister blood, after swearing solemn oaths to protect her. ‘We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne,’ their father told my sister. If you seek to placate them with the blood of the guilty, please recall that they’ve already taken the blood of the innocent.”

He believed that I had promised one or more of the Martell women the opportunity to take Jaime Lannister’s life. I did not correct his misunderstanding.

“I’ll consider your plea,” I told him instead. “Now I must be on my way.”

And I did consider what Lannister had said as I strode away. He had told the truth, at least as he believed it. Taking the life of an innocent young woman, no matter her family ties, went against every code of honor I had imbibed in my long life. And they had done so after swearing oaths to protect her.

Could I trust any oath sworn by the Martell women?

* * *

Skahaz and Grazdan had worked well together in my absence, and not solely because they had felt they could enrich themselves with no one watching over them. I took a seat across from them and thanked Doreah for a cup of coffee. She took the seat next to me, placed her writing pad before her and nodded to show that she was ready.

“My friends,” I began, “I apologize for taking so much time on personal matters. You have success to report?”

They looked at each other, and Skahaz nodded to Grazdan to begin. I noticed that Grazdan had shaved his head, a symbol of submission to my rule that had developed among the Meereenese themselves. I had not requested nor required this, as ridiculous as I found their elaborate hair.

“Your Imperial Highness,” he began, but I help up my hand to stop him.

“We’re alone here,” I said. “A respectful tone is all I ask.”

He nodded his thanks, and resumed.

“As you directed,” he said, “the Bank of Meereen is in operation, lending small amounts to independent farmers and businesses. Some large concerns attempted to apply, but a visit from your Ko Ogo quickly changed their minds. So far it seems successful, but it will take at least a year to measure.”

“And you have made sure,” I stressed, “that no one is forced to pay bribes or kickbacks.”

“Skahaz mo Kandaq was very clear,” he said. “Our lives depend on our honesty.”

“I know that some coins fall off the table,” I said. “That doesn’t concern me. But I’ll not see free men become slaves by another name.”

“Then I think you will be pleased,” Grazdan said. “We’ve had to take the land back from some of the new farmers, who seemed to lack the will to carry their project through. Most of them were grateful to be freed of so many choices. Those who remain on their farms have done well.”

“And the craftsmen?”

“There are plenty of skilled workers. Finding those with the drive to head the shops, this has been more difficult. The few we’ve given loans have prospered.”

Knowing his dislike for the freed slaves, I might have probed the truth of this had I not seen the same in Astapor and Yunkai. I described the labor program that had begun in the southern cities, that I wished extended to Meereen.

“Skahaz?”

“Your line of messaging stations is complete to Astapor, your Worshipfulness,” he said. “Testing began today. The Qarth line should be ready within days, including the cities of the Lhazarene. A new line to the cities of the Hyrkoon has begun construction. Your Dothraki horselord Ogo has built the mobile stations you wished, and we’ve trained the signalers, so those will be ready when you march.”

“And the schools?”

“Six of them have started operation, with former slaves teaching and running them. So far not many parents are willing to let their children out of their sight. They fear they’ll be enslaved and sold.”

“Understandable,” I said. “Keep them operating even if they’re nearly empty. Let them build trust. Perhaps add meals, at no cost.”

“As you say, Your Magnificence.”

“Any troubles in Meereen?”

“What’s left of the Great Masters hate you, Your Brilliance,” the Shavepate said. Manufacturing ever-more absurd titles to bestow upon me amused him, but as he meant nothing harmful by it, I did not correct him. “But you knew that. They eat dogs in secret and scrawl graffiti by night. They can’t wear the tokar in public without some former slave sticking a knife between their ribs. The red and the green priestesses vie to sing your praises more loudly, and that’s helped keep the masses docile.”

“We’ve been dividing the pyramids into apartments and renting them,” Grazdan said. “Housing for the masses on the lower levels, free of charge as you directed. More attractive lodgings as one goes higher, at a price.”

Grazdan knew that he tread dangerous ground, as these real estate dealings were where he and Skahaz were at their most corrupt.

“You’ve enriched me?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “The expenses of renovation haven’t been repaid. But they should generate revenue very soon.”

“You’ve enriched yourselves?”

“Both Skahaz mo Kandaq and I have done well under your regime,” Grazdan said. “It’s no secret.”

“You two are the richest men in Meereen?”

“That’s likely true,” he said. “We each hold a third of the copper mining concessions, with Your Highness owning the other third. You approved this. Even with the high wages that miners are now paid, the mines are very profitable.”

“All of the richest men were once Great Masters,” I said, not interested in copper profits for the moment. “Is that not also true?”

“It is,” Grazdan said, not seeing my point and unsettled by the questions.

“As long as the rich are the former masters,” I said, “and the poor the former slaves, it’s as though nothing has changed except the resident of the Great Pyramid.”

“What is it that you want of us?” Grazdan asked.

“I want to see rich former slaves,” I said. “I want the newly free to have a path to prosperity, and see their fellows walking it. Now, and not at some vague time in the future long after they’re long dead themselves. It’s no comfort if they can’t tell whether such opportunity really exists, or if it’s just a fairy story told to keep them docile.”

“Over half of the pyramids remain in the hands of Great Masters,” Skahaz said. He paused, drank some of his coffee, and looked into my eyes. “My advice remains. Clear this path for the new men of which you speak and secure your own rule at one blow. Exterminate all of the Great Masters. Leaving them alive only asks for rebellion the moment you march your army away.”

“Ko Ogo impaled hundreds of them.”

“Yes, Your Beneficence. Leaving their sons to grow to manhood and avenge themselves on you and yours. Don’t underestimate this threat. Rip them from the ground, root and branch.”

I took up my coffee myself, considering his advice. He meant it sincerely, and he wasn’t wrong. I had created a new generation of blood enemies, who would not hesitate to avenge themselves on me, those close to me and my supporters. My princess would counsel mercy, and though I loved the gentle side of her nature I had already seen the disastrous results her instincts could produce. I did not need to speak with Lizhi or Rastifa to know their views.

Knowing that I could be making a mistake, I decided not to upset my princess. We would compromise.

“Firstly, Citizen Grazdan, see that former Great Masters are forbidden loans from the Bank of Meereen. Your purpose is to create a new class of free businessmen and farmers, not perpetuate the old.”

“And their sons?” Skahaz pressed.

“Prepare a list of all such sons,” I said. “And brothers and other male relatives who could be a problem. Those who’ve reached the age of manhood will be enrolled in the army, in a separate unit overseen by the Unsullied. Those too young will serve as pages and servants.”

“They’ll only return even more bitter, and now trained at arms.”

“I said nothing about them returning.”

An ugly smile split Skahaz’s ugly face as he nodded.

* * *

With Drogon’s saddle now ready for use, I mounted the black dragon and urged him skyward; he needed no prodding and leapt upward with surprising grace. The rush of wind was utterly exhilarating; nothing in my long experience equaled the feeling of speed and power. We swooped over the city and I must admit I shouted with the feelings of pure delight surging through my body. I loved dragonflight, and had to share this with my princess.

I landed Drogon in front of the Great Pyramid, and called to Daenerys to join me. Drogon knelt and bent his wing to aid her climb, but she still needed the help of a Dothraki handler to ascend close enough for me to reach her little hand and pull her into the saddle. After fitting her securely directly in front of me, we took off again.

I found the press of her body against mine deeply arousing, and she in turn loved the feel of flight. I ordered Drogon into a steep, gliding dive, bringing the wind washing over us, and my princess experienced female climax, shouting her excitement just as I had moments before. For once, I felt no disquiet at her reaction.

Crowds gathered on rooftops and the city walls to stare, point and cheer. I brought the dragon on several low passes over them, so they could recognize us, and waved. They waved back; I could think of no better way to display my new dynasty’s power.

Feeling my princess’ eagerness, I next took Drogon to the north-east, flying for about two hours before finding a grassy hilltop with no human thoughts nearby. There we dismounted and disrobed, and if I’m to be honest I must admit that it was my princess who took me on this occasion. She pressed me to my back, mounted me and writhed in pleasure as I held my hands on her waist. In that moment I enjoyed the perfect combination of Daenerys’ love and her beauty, matched with skill and enthusiasm that would have shamed Lynesse. I would have to remember to quietly reward Doreah upon our return.

Over the days that followed, I fulfilled my promise to Tyrion Lannister. Others rode as well; Rastifa seemed to receive no extra thrill from the experience but all of the Dothraki who rode - all of the _ko_ s present in Meereen, a number of Companions and Ornela but not Lizhi, who declined my offer - felt it almost a religious experience that brought them closer to the Horse God. Some experimentation showed that Viserion would allow others to ride him without me. Drogon would as well, but had a clear preference for Daenerys. Rhaegal would only allow me to ride him, but would accept passengers as long as I was in control.

After several days of practice, I decided to take Drogon farther afield. Melennis had been troubled by the appearance of Ironborn ships in our waters and wanted to be sure none lurked beyond the range of his patrols. I showed him how to mount the dragon saddle, and took my place in front of him.

We flew south-west over the water, passing over Yunkai several hours after taking off. I brought Drogon down to circle the city, and saw crews of workers demolishing the walls. We landed in the city’s main square and briefly greeted Plumm.

“You said they weren’t ready,” he said, studying the dragon. “This one looks plenty ready.”

“It’s the first time we’ve taken him out of sight of Meereen,” I said. “So far he’s pleased me greatly.”

After a small lunch, including a number of sheep given over to Drogon, we took flight again. Before nightfall we spotted an island that Melennis named Yaros. We camped there, and truth be told I was unsure that Drogon would remain when I awakened, but he crouched exactly where I had left him, his head tucked under his wing like a very large and scaly bird. We mounted and set out again.

Melennis wished to scout a large, narrow island that blocked most of the entrance to Dragons’ Bay. I flew Drogon along the coastline, but I could detect no human thoughts on the Isle of Cedars, as Melennis named it, until we reached the southern cape. There we found a wrecked ship that the admiral identified as an Ironborn longship, though it seemed larger with full rigging and higher sides than I recalled of the Viking longships of my own world.

I landed Drogon close by, and we spoke briefly with the shipwrecked sailors. There were 22 of them, and they had been abandoned by their admiral with instructions to tell any stragglers who arrived that their Iron Fleet had departed for the west. The Ironborn would prey on shipping off the Free Cities and then return to their home islands.

The wretched castaways had no hope of repairing the _Shark_ , as they named their ship; if they had the means or the will, they would have done so already. They seemed content to remain on the beach, drinking the huge store of alcohol that had been left to them by their fellows. Just why the Ironborn commander had done this, I couldn’t fathom - the sailors could easily have been taken aboard other ships. And why had he left them with over a hundred barrels of wine and ale? After some consideration, I told Drogon to burn the ship and all of the sailors, which he did willingly. Melennis, holding a deep dislike of pirates of all nationalities, did not object.

I returned to Meereen with a deep physical need, and rushed the Dothraki handlers who removed the saddle and tack from Drogon. As soon as he had been returned to his pen, I took Calye into the first storage room I found and took her on top of a pile of canvas. She cried out with excitement as I entered her, thrilled to be wanted and needed.

* * *

Having made my decision, I summoned Princess Arianne to the audience hall, where my princess and I sat the ridiculous throne amid the carved purple marble columns. My Hyrkoon guards refused to admit the three Sand Snakes, who considered fighting my female soldiers but thought better of it. I had cautioned both the Hyrkoon and the Dothraki who attended me that the Dornishwomen applied poison to their blades, and told them to kill them in case a fight broke out rather than risk their own lives subduing them.

“Princess Arianne,” I began. “I have decided to accept your proposal, and announce a betrothal between us.”

“That offer is withdrawn,” she said. “I’ll be leaving on the first ship headed for Dorne.”

She angled for an immediate marriage rather than a betrothal, but overplayed her hand.

“As I was saying,” I said, “The public announcement will be made at some point after my wedding to Rastifa the Beautiful. The wedding itself will take place in Westeros, once Dorne has submitted to my rule and its troops have joined my armies.”

“Unacceptable,” she snarled. “An immediate marriage, between the three of us without your bare-breasted barbarian, or none at all.”

“Princess Arianne,” I said, as soothingly as I could, “you do not rule here, and you do not make demands. You’ve been granted everything you said you desired. My princess and I have been given a series of promises in return for this marriage you proposed. We simply wish to see them redeemed before we enter into a binding arrangement.”

“Is this your wish, Daenerys?” Arianne remained angry.

“Princess Daenerys,” my wife corrected. “Soon to be Empress Daenerys. My chieftain and I did not make this proposal. You did so. And we’ve granted it as far as we’re able. You will be my sister-wife, and John Carter’s Third Empress. You’ll wield unimagined power, and share the bed of the most powerful man in the world. Perhaps you’ll even be the first of us to bear him an heir.”

“An heir?”

“While Daenerys will be First Empress,” I said, “and Rastifa Second, all three Empresses will be equal in terms of precedence. The first male child born of any of you shall be my heir. That was Rastifa’s condition, and I agreed.”

“I may not be capable of bearing children,” Daenerys said. “And Rastifa has yet to become with child, despite a year of unrelenting effort by my husband.”

“Very well,” Arianne said, straightening her shoulders and spreading her silken garments to reveal her bosom. “But neither of you will enjoy these again, until we’re married.”

Once again, she turned and stalked out of the audience chamber; the pair of expressionless Hyrkoon guards opened the doors for her and shut them behind her.

* * *

I kept no gods, but a ruler must at least pay lip service to the divine. I had wed Daenerys in a Dothraki ceremony, and the Hyrkoon had no marriage ceremony of their own. Kainaz, newly arrived from Astapor for the wedding, believed that a few Hyrkoon had left their cities and married into other peoples, but knew no other details.

Summoning Kinvara and Galazza Galare to meet along with Ornela and Lizhi, I laid out my wishes. The ceremony must meet with the approval of both of my wives, and if not fully acceptable to the religions of all the peoples I now ruled, at least not overly offensive. I depended on the four of them to craft something that would meet all of those requirements.

Galazza Galare, the Green Grace, presented the greatest problem, insisting that the Meereenese would wish to see a traditional ceremony involving the examination of female parts and washing of feet. Seeing Kinvara meet my wishes, she withdrew her objections and I felt that I could safely leave the khaleen to assure that my will would be followed in this manner.

Rastifa made clear that she had no preference; whatever the ceremony, it would be one alien to her people. Daenerys had some reservations.

“My chieftain, Lord Tyrion says that as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, I must be an adherent of their Faith of the Seven.”

“And what does Doreah say?” I asked, annoyed at the constant invocations of her advisor’s name.

“Doreah says she worships the . . . the vagina goddess,” Daenerys blushed rather prettily. “She says I’m not ready to learn the mysteries of her faith. I think she’s making fun of me when she says that.”

“Your faith is your own concern,” I said. “As is mine, and as is that of every person under my rule. The Graces and the Red Faith will bless our new union with Rastifa, and if some priest of this Seven wishes to do so as well, that’s all to the better.”

“There is none in Meereen,” she said. “They’re called septons. Lord Tyrion says you should summon one for me, so that I might be instructed in the faith and be a loyal follower when my rule begins.”

“That won’t be happening,” I said. “If you wish to learn of this faith, or even believe it, that’s up to you. Your own choice, like everyone else. I’m not going to force anyone into a religion, nor is anyone else going to force me or either of my wives. I don’t even know if Rastifa worships a god or gods, nor do I care.”

“Lord Tyrion says the High Septon and his followers will resist.”

“According to Lord Varys, Tyrion’s sister vaporized the High Septon and all of his leading followers.”

“He says the Faith will have appointed a replacement.”

“And how many divisions does this replacement High Septon have?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter takes an additional wife.
> 
> Note: John Carter is channeling Josef Stalin's "How many divisions has the pope?" there at the end, though it appears that either Stalin never actually said that, or he said it to many people.


	72. Chapter Fifty-One (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tansy is wise.

Chapter Fifty-One (Dejah Thoris)

Soon after the sun rose, I worked with Beth in the practice yard while Trisha and Lyra sat by watching, talking softly and giggling to one another. Among the Mormonts, a daughter of the Lady and a common soldier could form a friendship, but could only rarely display this in front of others. Trisha continued to smile as she traded places with Beth, then flexed her arms, looked to the rising sun and shouted, “Whooo!”

“You have received orgasm,” I said.

“That I have,” she said as she took ready position. “When you made me an officer you took away my usual options at home.”

I attacked quickly, tapping her left breast with my practice sword. “And now you are dead.”

“I always die when I face off with you,” she said. “Just once I . . .”

I held up one hand, stopping her. I had picked up very sharp thoughts of distress from Gilly. Someone sought to harm her child.

“Gilly is in trouble,” I said, dropping my practice sword and rushing toward the Maester’s Tower. I scooped up my real sword as I ran, with Trisha, Beth and Lyra doing the same and following right on my heels.

We pounded up the stairs leading to the personal chambers of Samwell and Gilly. I recognized the other set of thoughts in the room: Val, the Free Woman we had met at the Shadow Tower. The door had been barred; I kicked it down with a loud crash.

Inside, I saw the child standing in a corner and screaming while Val and Gilly wrestled in the middle of the room, their clothing torn and scrapes visible on their faces, arms and chests. I would not have believed Gilly capable of resisting the much larger and experienced Val, yet she fought for her child with the strength of ten women. But Val had drawn a knife and Gilly’s eyes widened as she pressed it relentlessly toward the smaller woman’s throat.

“Abomination,” Val hissed. “These bitches won’t save you.”

Trisha grabbed Val’s wrist and tore the knife away even as I placed my right hand on Val’s upper chest and shoved her violently backward, intending to throw her against the stone wall and knock her senseless. Instead she crashed through the glass window and I assumed to her death in the stable yard below. But she had landed on the covered walkway leading to the neighboring Bell Tower, a badly-damaged structure that had not yet been repaired. As Lyra and I watched she slid down the wooden roof and swung herself onto the walkway, then staggered away.

Inside the room, Gilly had scampered across the floor to sweep the child into her arms and hold him close. She cowered in the corner and looked up at us. Beth extended her hand, and Gilly slowly took it, pulling herself to her feet.

“What in all seven hells was that?” Lyra asked. She did not actually believe there to be seven hells, but found it more powerful to invoke seven than just one.

“She . . . she’s Dalla’s sister.” Gilly’s voice was, unsurprisingly, rather shaky.

“And who the hell is Dalla?” Lyra demanded.

“Mance’s wife.”

“Come, Gilly,” I said. “Sit and recover. Lyra and Beth are my sisters. True sisters. Trisha is my Guard lieutenant and close friend. You may trust them all as you do me.”

“Is it safe to let Val escape?” Beth asked. She felt very protective toward Gilly, and Val’s attack had angered her. She wished to hunt Val down and kill her. Val had been correct; Beth Cassel had become a dangerous opponent.

“You are right,” I answered. “It is not. Where are our other sisters?”

“Still in our chambers,” Lyra answered. “Or with the Seaworths.”

“Go there,” I said. “See that they are protected. Beth will stay with Gilly and watch the window and balcony as well as the door. If Val appears again, kill her.”

Beth nodded grimly; I knew that she would skewer the Free Woman without hesitation. I was less sure of Lyra.

“Trisha and I will find Val and see that she is dead or restrained.”

Lyra nodded, granting me permission to kill, and headed out to find Tansy and Jory. I did not know if my beloved adoptive sister would actually kill Val, but I had no doubts about Trisha. We silently walked slowly down the tower’s steps, while I concentrated on finding Val’s thoughts. I knew she had lodged with the other Free Folk, and so I went to their barracks on the other side of the castle. We had not reached it when we encountered Toregg and Longspear Ryk in the castle courtyard practicing with blunted swords.

“You seek Val?” Toregg asked as soon as he saw us.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“She said you wished to kill her.” He looked down at Trisha’s hand, which still held Val’s knife. It had a fine steel blade and a polished handle made from the intricately-carved tusk of some beast. She flipped it in the air and smiled; he immediately recognized her as what he called a “spearwife.”

“We do,” I said.

“She took a horse and rode out of the gates moments ago.”

I pondered whether I should mount a horse and pursue; I decided that while I might regret the choice, I would let her go.

“She attempted to kill Gilly and take her child.”

“That child is Val’s blood,” Toregg said. “The abomination should not keep it from her.”

“Speak carefully,” I said. “Gilly is my friend.”

“You know of her birth?” Ryk asked. I nodded. “Fathers laying with daughters . . . that’s . . . foul. Even kneelers know that.”

“She did not choose to be born to a monster.”

The two men looked at one another.

“A fair point,” Toregg allowed. “But the child was born of Val’s sister. She is its closest family.”

I sighed.

“A fair point as well. I must think on this. But she should not have tried to kill my friend.”

“It’s our way,” Ryk said. “At least it was. I know we promised to follow Southron laws. But Val wasn’t here to make that promise.”

“As I said, I will think on this, and speak with the Onion Knight and the other lords. You will tell me if she returns?”

“Of course,” Ryk said. “Toregg’s been fucking Val. He’s right fond of her. Please don’t kill her unless you have to.”

“If he keeps her away from Gilly, he will have my gratitude.”

I nodded to them and we returned to the tower where Beth still guarded Gilly. Samwell had joined them, and he sat together with Gilly on a broad seat near the fire, the boy in between them.

“She has fled the castle,” I said. Beth put her sword back in its scabbard.

“We’re safe now,” Samwell told Gilly. “It’s all over now.”

“It is not,” I said. “The child is not Gilly’s son.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell.”

“The Free Folk in this castle already knew. So did Val.”

Gilly pulled the boy close to her.

“I’m the only mother he’s ever known. I nursed him with my very own tits. I guarded him with my life. I’m his mother and Sam is his father.”

I sighed and sat down on a chair facing them. Beth stood behind me, her back to us as she watched the gaping doorway; Trisha paced along the room’s back wall, idly flipping Val’s knife in her hand. Tansy would know what to do. I hoped Lyra would bring her here, but I had not asked her to do that.

“Tell me about the child,” I told Gilly. “The true story.”

Slowly, a complicated tale emerged. Val’s sister married the King of the Free Folk, even though the Free Folk had no king. Melisandre wished to burn this not-king’s child, so Jon Snow changed the places of this baby and Gilly’s actual son when he sent Samwell and Gilly away from the Wall. What advantage this exchange presented to anyone, since everyone believed the baby remaining at the Wall to be the not-king’s child, I did not understand. According to Gilly, Jon Snow threatened to kill the child if she did not agree to the swap. Her thoughts said she believed he would do this and passionately hated Jon Snow; Samwell’s showed that he had not been present and desperately wished for this to not be true, but he could not account for Gilly agreeing to the switch without such a terrible threat.

Val had been aware of the switch and later cared for Gilly’s son. I had burned no babies when I emptied Castle Black of the dead; what became of the child appeared to be a mystery. Apparently, Val wanted her nephew back now that she had learned of his survival.

“I do not know the laws here,” I said. “But she may have a claim.”

“She does,” Samwell said. “It’s written very clearly . . .”

“Fuck what’s written,” Gilly interrupted. “I will not give up my son. Nor will you, Samwell Tarly. He’s your son, too. We’re married now. A family.”

This was my fault. Gilly would have what she wanted had I killed Val or simply stood back and allowed Trisha to finish her with the knife. Each slap of the hilt into Trisha’s palm reminded me of my failure. I wished I had run my sword through Val’s heart at the Shadow Tower, or flung her all the way to the ground from this tower’s window.

“Can you adopt the child?” I asked.

“Not over the closest relative’s objection,” Samwell said.

“They could flee to Bear Island,” Beth looked over her shoulder to offer. “Maege would never let anyone take the child off the island.”

“That may be necessary,” I said. “But I believe Samwell would prefer to stay at his post here.”

He nodded.

“But I’ll give it up in a minute to keep Gilly and Little Sam together.”

Compromise. A wise princess could craft a compromise that did not include murdering Val. Putting a dagger in her heart would certainly be easier. Again I wished for Tansy.

“Does Val know the child?”

“No,” Gilly said. “I nursed him, even at the Wall.”

“I must know the full story.”

“She knows him some,” she allowed. “She helped birth him. And he’s all what’s left of her sister.”

On Barsoom, there would be no such drama. Neither of the women involved would care enough to fight over a hatchling, the aunt even less so. We acknowledge such relationships, particularly among royals, but they do not automatically involve an emotional bond. I did not understand these family dynamics well enough to offer a solution. I needed Tansy.

“Beth,” I said. “Please go to our chambers, or the solar of Ser Davos, find our sister Tansy and bring her here. She has the wisdom I lack. Trisha, please go with her and find Lyra and Jory if they are not with Tansy, and bring them here as well.”

Gilly grew nervous; Samwell felt deep confusion.

“Gilly,” I said. “You are my friend. I will not let anyone take your child, but I would prefer not to kill Val. I have killed many people, and many people hate me for it. My sister Tansy will know a better way. She is wise.”

“I’ll die before I give him up.”

“You will not die while I am here.”

The boy remained between Gilly and Samwell, but now peeked at me. I smiled. He did not return it.

Eventually Beth and Trisha returned with all of my sisters. The child immediately brightened when he saw Jory; all animals and small children appeared to love my little sister. She went to her knees to greet him while I explained the problem to Tansy and Lyra. They listened closely, and Tansy nodded.

“If Val will calm down a little,” she said, “we can solve this. All it takes is a couple of adoptions and a marriage.”

“I do not wish to kill Val,” I told Tansy.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I do,” Beth and Trisha said together.

“Please don’t,” Tansy said. “We can fix this.”

“I won’t give up my son,” Gilly repeated.

“You won’t have to,” Tansy said. “This depends on Val pulling her head out of her ass, which is a big thing. The pulling, I mean, as well as the ass.

“Tormund is founding a new house,” she went on. “They’ll move to Queenscrown soon, the little castle north of here, in the middle of a lake. All the wildlings are going with him.”

She paused and turned to Samwell.

“You know Tormund, do you not? He says he’s fond of the fat crow.”

“Yes,” Samwell said. “We met at the Wall.”

“Won’t Val try to take the child with her?” Beth asked. Involuntarily, I caught her thoughts. She imagined her dagger entering Val’s abdomen and striking upward into her heart. She saw me look at her, and smiled. Trisha smiled as well; she imagined Val kneeling before her as she held an axe.

“That’s where it gets a little complicated,” Tansy answered. “Val and Toregg, Tormund’s son, have been spending time together.”

“They have been fucking,” I said. “Longspear Ryk told me.”

“That’s what I meant,” Tansy said. “I was using a polite term. The first step is for them to marry.”

She looked again at Samwell.

“Your father has disowned you. You have no house.”

“This is true,” he said. “And I don’t regret it. I don’t want Horn Hill; let my sister inherit.”

“Good. Because the next step is for Tormund to adopt you, making you and Toregg brothers. And you and Gilly adopt Little Sam, making Val his aunt once again. You’ll allow her to visit like any loving aunt. And should she try to snatch the boy, Dejah, Trisha or Beth will . . . deal with her.”

“That would make you and I brother and sister,” Lyra told Samwell.

“How would that make me a Mormont?”

“Not all Mormonts, just me. Tormund is my father.”

“Is he a good father?”

“I have no idea,” Lyra said. “I never knew until he came to Winterfell last year. But I like him.”

“Can’t be worse than my actual father. Can we trust him?”

“I believe so,” I said. “And Toregg as well. Val would be the difficult one.”

Gilly seemed to relax.

“I don’t want her cut out of Little Sam’s life,” she said. “As long as she knows he’s mine and not hers, I don’t mind her coming around. I would have killed her if the princess hadn’t thrown her out the window first. Next time the princess won’t be here to save her.”

She meant what she said, but she would not have survived the fight had I not intervened. Gilly was a mother; Val was a killer. Even so, she gladly accepted Val’s knife from Trisha as we left.

* * *

Ser Davos detailed guards to protect Gilly and her child, at least until Val could be informed of her marriage arrangements, and he sent workers to replace the door and the window I had destroyed. My failure to kill Val on the spot had cost Ser Davos a great deal of money; glass was difficult to obtain and very expensive this far North.

As I waited for my sisters and the Manderly representatives, I stared at the decorated ceiling of the small room where we had met Gendry’s people. Birds flew against a blue sky dotted with clouds.

If I understood the logic of family bonds here, Val actually had the stronger claim to the child, being a relative. Much like Tansy’s feelings toward Arya Stark, but far stronger, Gilly had come to feel herself to be the child’s mother. She had been willing to fight Val for the child, a battle that stood moments from her death until I kicked in the door and Trisha disarmed Val.

I identified with Gilly: her awkwardness, her dislocation, her loneliness. Did this make me favor her claim despite Val’s stronger argument? Normally Val’s beauty would have drawn me to her, but I regretted not having killed her at the Wall or during the confrontation in Gilly and Samwell’s chambers.

Ser Wylis and Medrick soon appeared, bearing a large sack of rough cloth filled with dried coffee beans, and a wooden crate of bright orange fruit known prosaically as “oranges.” A servant trailed behind them with a large steaming pot of fresh-brewed coffee and a set of cups. These were wonderful gifts, and I thanked them profusely, drawing their amusement.

Tansy, Trisha and Jory joined us a few moments later, and the six of us shared coffee and the sweet, delectable oranges before resuming our talks. I had told Tansy the prices the Manderlys would accept for our desires, and my sister forged agreements for the sheep and the shipwrights; Medrick had already written them out and now filled in the amounts. Tansy reviewed them and signed for House Mormont, writing “Tanith of House Mormont” in large, looping letters; I could not read them but I saw how the Manderly men were impressed that a woman could both read and write. We gave them a down payment in gold, and the deals became official.

The six of us chatted after sealing the agreements with rings pressed into hot wax; Maege had gifted Tansy a special ring with a bear symbol just for this purpose. I said little, pleased with my gifts and unwilling to spoil a successful venture by saying something unfortunate. Trisha sat next to me, equally silent but enjoying her first taste of coffee.

“I’m dreadfully sorry about the stone masons,” Ser Wylis said. “My father is eager for a strong relationship with House Mormont, and I’d hate to start it poorly by failing to deliver.”

“Do you see an end to the shortage?” Tansy asked.

“May I?” Medrick offered. Ser Wylis nodded. “Skilled workers follow the gold. We’ll do our best to spread the word that solid coin can be had, and eventually there will be takers. There always are.”

They would wish to receive a fee for this service, but I did not see that as a problem. I would discuss it with Tansy before I said so aloud, however.

“You see the market easing?” Tansy asked.

“I do,” Medrick replied. “Three Northern houses have been eliminated, and whilst House Umber rarely employed stonework, Karhold and Dreadfort were steady customers. We’ve agreed to help recruit workers for the Moat Cailin project. We will of course seek added workers for House Mormont as well. Even should we fail, the Moat Cailin work will end eventually and you’ll have dozens of good masons plus their journeymen looking for their next payroll.”

“Can you help sell the products of Bear Island?” Jory asked.

“I am not sure,” Medrick answered slowly. A question from a young woman amused him, but he took it seriously. “Dried fish and timber, if I’m not mistaken?”

“You are not,” Jory said. “Furs and fine woolens as well.”

“The cost of transporting heavy goods overland generally makes them a loss by the time they reach White Harbor. But furs and woolens . . .”

His voice trailed off as he considered, making calculations of the prices he could pay to us, those that he could charge in White Harbor or beyond, and what he could collect for arranging such trade.

“Perhaps. Might I make inquiries and write to Lady Tanith later?”

“Of course.”

“A pity we have no sons to offer in marriage to seal our bargains,” Ser Wylis said. “My brother Wendel was slain at the Red Wedding before he could marry.”

“They murdered our sister Dacey as well,” I said.

“You knew her?” Ser Wylis asked. Ser Wylis had met Dacey and admired her beauty and her skill at arms.

“No,” I answered. “She was slain before my adoption. But I feel the pain of Lady Maege and my sisters. I intend to kill every Frey.”

My sisters started; apparently, I had said too much. I felt rather than heard Trisha growl. But my words pleased Ser Wylis, who had little doubt I could do as I said. The Manderlys had gathered extensive reports of my fighting skills and greatly respected them.

“Good,” he said. “My blessings, and those of my house, ride with you. We avenged ourselves on what Freys we could find, but House Frey needs to end. Please call on us for any aid you require in such an undertaking. And I do mean any aid.”

* * *

Tormund appeared in the Great Hall that evening as we enjoyed a roasted sheep, taking a seat at our table without awaiting invitation. All of my sisters were present, and Toregg accompanied his father.

“She-Bears!” Tormund bellowed, and waved his horn cup of ale at Lyra. “Daughter!”

“Tormund,” she said, smiling.

He nodded at Tansy. “You wish to see me, Red Bear?”

“Isn’t that a little too much like Red Wolf?” she asked, also smiling at the Free Folk chieftain.

“Har! Suppose that’s so. Suits you, though. The gods tell me you’re quite the talker. What have you to say to Tormund?”

Tansy laid out her proposal for the marriage of Toregg and Val and the adoptions to follow.

“Har!” Tormund answered, employing his favorite word again. “My son here would like that. Your dark sister would hold off killing Val, and he could fuck her whenever he liked.”

“It’s true,” Toregg said. “She likes it as much as I, let’s be clear.”

Toregg took great pride in his sex organ and his skills in using it. Having no experience in such things, I did not know how to judge his confidence.

“I wouldn’t mind calling the fat crow brother,” Toregg went on. “He seems craven on the outside, but he stood up to a Walker. Not many can say that.”

“And his wife?” Tansy asked.

“An abomination,” Tormund said, shaking his head. “She seems a right sweet little flower, but that father of hers . . .”

“If you object so much,” Beth interjected from her place next to Tormund, “why did you never kill Craster?”

“You I don’t know,” Tormund said. “Another sister, are you?”

“Beth Cassel. Cousin to Lyra, niece to Maege.”

“Har! Makes you part of our twisted family then. A spearwife you’d be with a tongue like that.”

“Aye,” she answered, a word I had never heard from her before. “So why didn’t you?”

“Easier to complain than to do, it is, when you’re the Mead King. So I’m a Tall Talker, you’d be right. I’ll accept her.”

“And place her under your protection,” Beth pressed, “when on your new lands?”

He sighed.

“Aye. She’ll be family too. Just who are you in all of this?”

“Dejah’s apprentice, Gilly’s friend.”

He nodded.

“If she’s under my protection, then there’s a price.”

“Name it,” Tansy said, “and we’ll talk.”

“Three months each year, the fat crow and his wife spend at our castle. He does his work for us, tending to the sick and such, and Val can do whatever it is women do with children. Under the little flower’s eye, mind you.”

“If she snatches the child,” I put in, “she dies.”

“Fair enough,” Tormund agreed. “She’ll take an oath. She breaks it, she dies.”

“Are we agreed then?” Tansy asked. “One marriage, two adoptions?”

“Aye,” the two Free Men said in unison.

“Drink on it,” Tansy said. “Here we stand.”

My sisters and I slammed our cups twice on the table and drained them, all in unison. Tormund bellowed in laughter, and then he and his son downed theirs as well. I looked at Toregg.

“You may tell Val,” I said, “that she can return to the castle.”

“How did you know?”

“Truly?” I asked. “You do not think it obvious?”

“That we kept fucking?” He shook his head. “She should be back day after next. I’ll tell her she’s to be my wife, else you’ll kill her.”

“I would think that unnecessary.”

“You don’t know Val.” 

* * *

Val actually returned on the following day, and married Toregg in the godswood with Tormund presiding this time. Lyra stood with the Free Folk as Toregg’s half-sister, with Jory and Tansy also in the wedding party while Trisha watched over them. The bride invited both Beth and I to stay away; we practiced at swords and then bathed and napped the day away in our chambers.

* * *

After a little more than a month spent at Winterfell, we rode out for Deepwood Motte. Ser Davos saw us off, and embraced me tightly before I mounted my borrowed horse.

“I love you like a daughter,” he said, emotion choking his voice. “Stay well, and visit again soon.”

“I shall do so,” I said. “You shall practice with your sword.”

“With these?” he waggled the fingers of his left hand. Stannis Baratheon had cut them off at the first knuckle.

“You still have most of those fingers,” I said. “And I know that you are right-handed.”

He laughed as I rode away.

“No fooling you, Princess.”

Our little procession included Gendry and the new recruits for Bear Island, six sacks of coffee beans and completed paperwork for Tansy’s agreements. I knew that the dealings had pleased her.

“Of course they did,” she said when I mentioned my observation. “When you’re a woman, in these lands anyway, just being taken seriously is a victory by itself.”

“That cannot be enough.”

“It never is,” she said. “You have to work twice as hard to have half as much. And not playing is never an option.”

“You are bitter?”

“Only sometimes. I know some women resent their sex, and wish they’d been born men. I did, for a time. Now I love being a woman. I just hate what comes with it. Sometimes comes with it, I should say.”

“Bear Island is different.”

“Very different. I suppose it’s closer to Barstool.”

“Barsoom,” I said reflexively, then realized there had been a question as well.

“Regarding the role of women?” I asked. She nodded. “I do not know. In our world, we do not think of the place of men and women, not in the same way as here. Even on Bear Island, people are aware that the forward role of women is unusual.”

I paused and thought for a moment.

“We do have people who wish to categorize others by their gender, or their origin. Men who think women weak and unable to fight. Women who think men stupid and unable to study science or create art.”

John Carter had accused me of the latter prejudice. I could not say that he was completely wrong to do so.

“You don’t come from paradise?”

“Hardly. My world is as violent as this one. I am unusual: bred for intelligence, strength and beauty, trained to use those gifts and handed enormous privileges. Rather than employ these advantages for the good of my people, I indulged myself. I threw myself into my studies and my lovers.”

“And no one stopped you.”

“I understand your meaning. I had the freedom to be foolish. You did not.”

I felt Galbart Glover approaching, and tilted my head in his direction. Tansy noted the signal.

“My ladies,” he greeted us, bringing his horse alongside my horse, on the opposite side from Tansy. “I hope I am not intruding.”

“We speak of the places of men and women,” I said. “And the difficulty of leaving those places.”

“Ah,” he said. “And how you do not fit the pattern, Princess?”

“Partially,” I allowed. “I had many opportunities denied to my sister. One’s sex is a privilege here, more so than in my lands, but the privilege of birth is one our nations share.”

He nodded.

“I would agree in part,” he said. “I’ve had privilege far greater than that of Lady Tansy, by my birth and my sex. But that hasn’t given me freedom, either. You’ve seen stage plays?”

We both nodded.

“At times I feel myself a mere character, meant to deliver the lines someone wrote for me, swing a sword and die bravely. Else marry a lady of my class, father children and slip into the grave. Never making the life I might choose, or even considering what such a life might be.”

“You’ve not had a difficult life,” Tansy said, then quickly added, “My apologies, my lord, that was untoward of me.”

“I take no offense, my lady. And you’re not wrong. It’s a comfortable cage, but a cage all the same. You’ve broken the bars on yours, and I admire that. Truly, I do.”

“You would be rare, then.” But she smiled to take the edge off her statement.

“I suppose that’s so. We fancy that we form our own beliefs. But we’re shaped by our world, are we not?”

“So perhaps,” Tansy smiled again, “you’ve broken a bar or two?”

“One, perhaps. Little more. I could not tell you what other life I would make, given the freedom. The pattern’s comfortable, and freedom might just lead to starvation, misery and death. I’ll marry, father children and slip into the grave. Maybe wave a sword about a few times first.”

“You have a brother,” I said. “You could leave Deepwood to him.”

“He would like that,” he said. “I love my brother, but he resents his place as the younger. His wife fears that you came to offer me a Mormont bride, Princess.”

“So I assumed,” I said. “My sister speaks for the House, though, not I.”

“Your Mormont sisters are fierce and beautiful,” he looked at each of us. “As a younger man, I thought I loved Dacey; I see her in Lyra and it pains my heart. But I’ve known Mormonts longer than you have, as has House Glover, and I can assure you with many years of family experience. They wither and die when they leave their island, like a blue winter rose. It happened to Bethany and to Dacey; I’d not see that happen to Lyra or Jory.”

We rode quietly for a moment; then he spoke again.

“That’s true for you as well, Princess. You can love them on their island. You can’t take them to your home.” 

* * *

“Might I have a moment, Princess?” Trisha asked the next morning as she and I sat on the back porch of the inn where we had spent the night. We drank coffee and ate apple turnovers that Hot Pie had somehow managed to bake in the inn’s kitchen.

“I was going to bring this up when we were in Winterfell,” she began. “And then it slipped my mind. The coffee and these . . . whatever they’re called reminded me.”

“Turnovers,” I said. “I relish them greatly.”

“I noticed,” she smiled. “And I think others will as well.”

She was nervous to make a request of me, yet angry as well.

“Tell me,” I said. “Have I offended you?”

“You?” she asked, surprised. “No, Princess.”

“Dejah,” I said. “We are alone.”

“Dejah,” she said. “No, I’m not angry with you. Let me start from the beginning.”

I nodded.

“That rat-fucking bastard Rolston stopped my pay while I was at Greywater Watch with the Lady,” she began, her rage sounding odd in her chirpy voice, usually so pleasant. “It had been going to Sandy, my sister. He said I must have been killed at the Red Wedding with our father, and suddenly she had nothing, neither his pay nor mine.”

I knew Trisha’s sister slightly; we had run along the rocky beach many times. She was not as tall as Trisha, with brown hair and larger breasts but a plainer face, and a much more withdrawn personality. I believed her to be of an age with Jory or perhaps slightly older but was not sure.

“She ended up whoring to feed herself,” Trisha said. “Rolston made my sister a whore. Then paid her a couple of coppers to fuck her himelf. I want to fucking kill him.”

“I now wish to as well,” I said, angry on my friend’s behalf. “But you know that we cannot do this, and that I cannot allow you to do so, as your commander or as your friend.”

“I know,” she said. “And that’s not what I’m asking. Lady Tansy, I mean Tansy, saw that I got my back pay and that for our father as well, and that we received pensions for our parents. But it’s the future I want to take care of. For Sandy.”

“She is a kitchen servant now.”

“That’s right. Room and board and a pittance. She has a pension now, thanks to you, and that helps a great deal.”

Regulations forbade housing family members in the barracks, and I agreed with that principle. Trisha wanted more for her sister.

“It’s the coffee I wanted to talk about,” she said. “A place like this tavern, but not a rooming house. It would serve coffee during the day and maybe these turnover things and things like them.”

“A house of coffee,” I mused aloud. “Where coffee is brewed and sold.”

“Yes,” she said. “And my sister works there. Runs it. She’s smart as a whip, can read and write and cipher.”

“And you need my help in gaining money, coffee beans and permission.”

“You read my thoughts.”

“No,” I said. “I did not need to do so. Lady Maege has always been clear that I may access whatever money I wish from the Mormont treasury. Sandy can of course have some of the coffee that we brought from Winterfell, and we can order more from White Harbor.

“I will present this as my idea, therefore Maege and Tansy will not deny me. But you and your sister will own this house of coffee. You will consider the money a gift from me, in recompense for the shameful manner in which my family treated your sister, and say nothing of it to anyone else. Tansy knows much of business; would you allow her to help Sandy?”

“Dejah, that’s . . . far more than I was asking.”

“You are my friend,” I said. “And I am shamed by what happened to your sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, our four Shield Maidens face thirty Iron Born. Pity the Iron Born.


	73. Chapter Fifty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the scuppers run red with blood.

Chapter Fifty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

We spent only one night at Deepwood Motte, following a small and pleasant dinner hosted by Lord Glover. In the morning he spoke with Tansy for an extended period while my sisters and I exercised, sending a shiver of fear through Lady Sybelle.

Somewhat cruelly, they waited until after they had finished before informing her and her husband that they had worked out an agreement to share the investment cost and the tax revenues of an expansion of Deepwood Port, and allow House Mormont to invest in businesses in the small town there.

We said our farewells to the Glovers, and rode to the port.

“You did not need me for the negotiation?” I asked.

“I figured I could trust Lord Glover,” she said. “And that you would detect dishonesty when we saw him later.”

“I found none,” I said. “He respects you, and the agreement pleased him.”

“It should. There are no real ports on this side of the North, and House Glover can’t afford to expand theirs. But they can if we pay two-thirds of it.”

“And House Mormont receives two-thirds of the taxes?”

“Half,” she said. “House Glover oversees the actual construction, hires the builders and so forth. Later they’ll collect the taxes and make repairs.”

A management fee, we called it on Barsoom.

“Tycho suggested the arrangement,” she continued. “It seems fair to everyone. The best sort of business, I learned the hard way. Everyone walks away a winner.”

“You are no longer the woman I first met.”

“Thank you,” she said. “That is a compliment, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not so much a change, more like becoming the woman I always thought I was. That’s due to you.”

“To me?”

“I’ve learned from you.”

“As have I from you.”

“Yes. You’re still glowing. But I haven’t even started teaching.” 

* * *

We returned our horses, and then loaded Gendry’s people and a few goods onto the ship under a bright blue sky. We set out for Bear Island on the evening tide. Captain Loodey attempted to explain to me the importance of tides to sailing, but he relied almost exclusively on intuition rather than solid fact. I would need to perform some observations and develop some mathematics before I could say that I understood the concept of tides.

My third sea voyage began much easier than the first and even the second. Anticipation of our return home overrode fear of the sea, and I still enjoyed the afterglow of having received orgasm or at least a little of its pleasure.

On the second day I felt well enough to stand with Ran Loodey and his helmsman as they explained the complicated procedures of raising and lowering sails and how they steered the ship to best catch the wind. Men of this world felt compelled to explain all things to women, but I found this subject at least to be interesting and Captain Loodey a pleasant enough companion.

“Captain!” called a man on a platform atop the after mast. “Sail. Dead astern.”

I could not yet see it, but soon it came into view, a tiny white triangle on the horizon. The captain grew uneasy.

“Danger?” I asked.

“Maybe yes, maybe no. There’s not much traffic in these waters, but they could just be minding their own business, on their own way to Bear Island. Or they may be after us.”

“Can they catch us?”

“Absolutely. This scow sails like a wagon. We’ll see.”

Loodey ordered some adjustments, but I could not see any improvement in our ship’s speed. Slowly the little triangle became a little ship.

“Stern chase,” he told me. “They’ll be on us in a few hours.”

“Who do you think it is?”

“White sails say it’s not Iron Born,” he said. “My gut says it’s Iron Born.”

That would mean an assault on our ship.

“I will see to our defenses,” I said.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

As he had predicted, the ship bore down on us within a few hours. As had happened aboard _Sweet Cersei_ , the thought of impending battle eased my seasickness, though it did not completely disappear. My sisters had gathered behind me; I untied the rope from around my waist and turned to them.

“Jory, please bring my sword, my gauntlets and all of the bear-spears. Beth, please help her and fetch your own weapons.”

“I’ll get my bow,” Lyra said.

“Do so. And your sword. Tansy, you will remain in the captain’s cabin with Jory.”

She nodded. As Jory came on deck with my weapons, I saw that she had found her own sword; I had not been sure she had brought it on our journey.

“You’ll defend the ship,” Tansy said.

“No,” I said. “We are going to take theirs.”

“You can’t swim.”

“I have fought boarding actions many times. Our ships float on air. If you slip, you die. This is little different.”

The approaching ship flew a banner the captain said came from the town of Seagard, but the thoughts of the crew confirmed their identity as Iron Born raiders. Darkness had begun to fall when the enemy ship drew close enough that I could pick out the thoughts of individual men and women.

Their ship had two masts and a bank of oars along each side. Its sides stood higher than those of our ship, giving its crew a decided advantage in the upcoming battle. They greatly outnumbered the fighters among our own crew – six fighting men who could be spared from among the sailors working the ship, two Mormont soldiers plus Trisha, my sisters and me.

“We have a hold filled with men,” Gendry said, coming to stand alongside me at the rail.

“Without weapons,” I pointed out.

“Surely the captain has a few,” he said. “Would it help?”

“Ask him,” I said. “And arm the best fighters. Jory, please give Crodell your sword.”

That added eight more men, who I stationed with the sailors guarding the deck against boarders. I had trained Crodell myself and knew him to be steady in battle, and I made sure that the deer hunters also received weapons.

I saw that the enemy had lowered nets along the sides of the ship to allow their fighters to climb down more easily; their captain did not think this dangerous given their advantages in numbers and, he believed, ferocity and skill. I thought otherwise.

I hefted one of the bear-spears; when fighting an actual bear, I had thrown a spear while running and desperate for Tansy’s life, and missed my target. Royal women of Barsoom learn from an early age to hunt with a thrown javelin, tracking the target by its thoughts. I should not have missed the bear, though I had not shared my shame with my sisters. They instead thought me quite brave for having fought the beast with my bare hands. It should never have come to that, and this time I did not intend to miss.

I stood on the deck of our ship as theirs approached, feeling the motion through my feet and willing myself to imagine the deck of an airship above Barsoom. I became used to the gentle rolling as I tracked my first target: their lone archer, on a platform attached to the foremast. He had not yet nocked an arrow, awaiting his captain’s spoken challenge before loosing.

“There is one archer, on the platform attached to the first mast,” I told Trisha, Lyra and Beth. “I will kill him with a thrown spear, and then kill the captain and the man at the helm. Once they are dead, the four of us will climb the nets onto their deck. Stay directly behind me; do not spread out or become separated.”

I spoke more loudly so the soldiers and sailors could hear my orders.

“We four Shield Maidens will board their ship. Trevan and Jarack will remain at the cabin door and protect my remaining sisters. Do not fail in this.”

They nodded.

“The armed sailors and Gendry’s men will guard against boarding parties. They will probably be too occupied with our attack, but be alert.”

I tracked the approach of the enemy vessel, judging its speed and the position of the archer. When I felt confident, I threw the spear; it took the archer in the chest and pinned him to the mast. The enemy crew did not notice. The next targets were more difficult, as only their heads and shoulders could be seen above the ship’s railing, but I found myself highly focused. My second spear killed the helmsman and the ship continued on its oblique collision course. My third missed the captain but the fourth split his head.

“Go!” I shouted. “Go now!”

Grappling hooks sailed through the darkening skies, fastening the two ships together. I pulled my scabbard downward as I drew my sword. As the Iron Born ship ground its way alongside ours, making a horrible sound, I grabbed a handful of netting and vaulted upwards onto the ship’s middle deck, snarling as I landed. I knocked one Iron Born sailor to the deck as I came on board, and took another by his knotted hair and threw him behind me, over the side of the ship and onto the deck of ours where our sailors killed him.

At least thirty armed men and women awaited me, but they were packed tightly together and greatly surprised. I immediately attacked, killing three more men before anyone thought to strike back. And then I began to fight for my life, facing four Iron Born wielding swords and axes. I killed one man directly in front of me with a cut across his throat, shattered the kneecap of the man to my left with a kick and ran my sword through the heart of the second man in front of me while I ducked under the axe swung by the man on my right. I punched him in the face with my left hand, and he fell to the deck.

A new wave approached, and I fought them off as well. Now alert, they did not coordinate their attacks but with so many opponents I could only parry their blows. Fortunately, none of those behind them thought to stab me with the long-handled pikes some of them carried. My troubles ended quickly, as Beth stuck her sword through a gap in the ship’s railing and into the thigh of the man on my right; he fell to his knees and as she climbed over the rail she stabbed downward into his lower back, severing his spine with her Valyrian blade. A woman raised her sword over her head with two hands but my apprentice slashed her across the lower abdomen and the woman fell onto her back with a horrible scream.

I pressed forward to give Lyra and Trisha space to climb over the railing directly behind me. With three quick thrusts, Trisha killed the man with the shattered kneecap, the man still lying on the deck from when I had leapt aboard and the woman Beth had slashed across the abdomen, silencing her scream. Lyra parried a strike from a huge bald man and sliced open his bare chest on the counter-stroke, exactly as we had practiced. I hacked off the arm of a man with a wooden leg; John Carter would have disarmed him without further injury but I had no care for misplaced gallantry. With yet another quick thrust to the heart Trisha killed a bare-breasted, screaming woman absurdly waving what appeared to be a large kitchen cleaver. I blocked a strike from a man to my right using the gauntlet on my right forearm, and while Beth ran him through, I spun behind her back to sink my sword into the neck of a startled woman moving to stab Beth in what she’d falsely assumed was an unprotected flank.

Beth and Lyra had assumed the flanking spots of the triune position of combat, with Trisha directly beside me as we had practiced. The Iron Born stepped back, still surprised to find their ship invaded and slowly realizing that their attackers numbered only four, all of them women. Beth killed the man whose face I had broken as he tried to rise from the deck, and that seemed to signal his six remaining shipmates who rushed at us.

Their enthusiasm lasted only moments. Without their captain, the Iron Born began to waver even though they still outnumbered us. Their advantage steadily dwindled as we killed them; they had little actual skill at arms and depended on ferocity and intimidation. We could not push forward without being outflanked, but soon the last four Iron Born fighters broke and tried to find places to hide. I shouted to my comrades to maintain position; Beth, Lyra and Trisha each killed one Iron Born who knelt on the deck to beg for mercy.

We had cleared the deck of living Iron Born except for the man Beth had paralyzed, but at least fifteen men and women, most of whom had been in the rigging or elsewhere during our fight, had escaped below and now waited in ambush. I did not wish to risk any of our lives rooting them out, and we did not need their ship. I motioned to the others to follow me aft, where I smashed the helm with repeated kicks of my hob-nailed boots. I took one of the two lamps hanging nearby and began to touch the flame to the heavily-tarred rigging, handing the other to Trisha to do the same. Soon the lines and sails were alight, and we scrambled back onto our own ship. As soon as the last of us alighted on deck, our own sailors cut free the grappling hooks the Iron Born had tossed onto our ship.

I saw the burning ship sheer away from us. And then I vomited most profusely. 

* * *

“What happened up there?” Captain Loodey asked; he had not been able to see the fighting from our deck. He had seen the one sailor I had thrown overboard fly over the side, and seen the drains on the other ship’s deck, known as “scuppers,” send a cascade of blood down its side.

“She killed them,” Lyra said.

“We helped,” Beth added.

He watched me vomit over the ship’s railing, thinking of a sarcastic comment. Then he noted how blood still dripped from my sword. He pulled the kerchief from around his neck.

“Let me get that for you.” 

* * *

The rest of the short voyage passed uneventfully. We docked at Mormont Port on a very fine morning, and climbed to the Keep to report our adventures to Maege.

“Dejah killed another pirate crew,” Tansy said as soon as Maege had embraced each of us.

“Iron Born?” she asked as we settled around the table in her dining area.

“Yes,” I said. “Your niece fought like a Mormont Shield-Maiden.”

Beth smiled, but said nothing.

“Lyra fought well also,” I added, “As did Trisha. We burned their ship. None survived.”

“Raiders?” she asked Lyra.

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “The ship herself was a merchant, not island-built. Everyone aboard looked to be Iron Born.”

She paused.

“I killed a man begging for mercy.”

“So did I,” Beth said. “Trisha killed a weeping woman on her knees. There is no mercy when the Iron Born are involved. If you hadn’t killed that man, I would have, without regret.”

Lyra was not mollified.

“We burned the ship before we looked for prisoners.”

“I scanned for them,” I said. “Everyone below the deck was part of the crew. We killed no innocents, even those pleading for mercy. They gave none to the crew of that ship when they took her.”

I looked at my adoptive sister and sampled her thoughts.

“I did not know you were distressed.”

“I only thought of it just now,” she said. “In the moment, I didn’t care who else might be aboard that ship. And I should have, but my blood was up.”

“We had the advantage on the deck,” Beth said. She rarely spoke up in family meetings. “But we could have been easily killed down in the darkness and tight spaces.”

“You all returned alive,” Maege said. “I trust Dejah to keep you that way, and she did not disappoint me.”

I had spoken the truth; there were no prisoners aboard the Iron Born ship. I did not wish Lyra to think me callous. But I did not know what to say. The meeting moved on without pausing for my inner considering.

“We may need to spend on weaponry after all,” Maege said to Tansy. “The Iron Born travel in fleets, never in single ships. And it sounds like you encountered a prize. That means there’s at least one more of them out there.”

“We are well armed,” I said. “We have few troops but they are steady.”

“I know,” Maege said. “You’ve trained them well. I’m thinking we may need a warship of our own, to patrol around the island and seek out these bastards rather than wait for them.”

She stopped, and gently placed her hands on the table.

“We can discuss that later. Tell me of your journey.”

Tansy reported on our business dealings, and Lyra gave an account of our interviews with Gendry’s settlers.

“Your blacksmith friend is with you?” Maege asked me.

“Yes,” I said, “and we also found Hot Pie.”

“Hot Pie?”

“The greatest baker of pies in all of Westeros.”

“Dejah loves pie,” Tansy clarified. “And Hot Pie is indeed an extraordinary baker.”

“We have the ovens for it,” Maege said. “Anyone else of note?”

“Gendry the blacksmith,” Lyra said. “A laundress named Pia, a healer, perhaps fifteen who hope to join the House Guard and a cooper. Otherwise they’re farmers. Gendry had already selected them and only three didn’t pass Dejah’s tests.”

“There’s work for the cooper in Mormont Port,” Maege said, “and a place for a laundress here in the keep. The would-be guardsmen can report to Dejah. And there’s a village not far from here that’s nearly depopulated; the farmers can settle in it together if they wish.”

“I made new friends,” I said. “We brought coffee with us. And I helped Tansy solve a dispute over a child.”

“I hope you didn’t threaten to slice it in half,” Maege said.

“I would not do such a thing,” I said. “Tansy used the art of compromise.”

“I was only jesting,” Maege said. “It refers to an old fairy tale. Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed your visit.”

She was right. After a difficult beginning I had enjoyed the visit after all, not least because I had finally received orgasm.

“I did,” I said. “But I am happy to be home.”

“You seem different. Happier.”

“I am.” 

* * *

We resumed our exercises the next morning; as we began, I heard the clanging of metal. Tansy had shown Gendry the blacksmith’s works soon after our arrival, and already he apparently had the forge lit and working.

As we finished our movements, an older man I had never seen before approached us. Lyra appeared to know him.

“Lady Lyra,” he said, bowing but not kneeling, in the way of the islanders, “I’m told you now wield Longclaw.”

“I do,” she said, smiling. “My adoptive sister Dejah returned it to our House. Dejah, this is Braden, a long-time friend to House Mormont.”

“Bless you, Princess,” Braden said with another bow. “But I’m told the sword had been mutilated.”

“Yes,” Lyra said. “Someone replaced the bear’s head with a wolf.”

“Evil doings. Evil. I have a favor to beg.”

He carried a small cloth-wrapped bundle that he now proceeded to open. Inside lay a carved bear’s head. He handed it to Lyra, who passed it to me. It was beautifully done.

“You honor me with such a gift,” Lyra said. “Come, join us for First Meal.”

As we walked, the carver told me of his many years working with ivory. He had carved many lovely objects for House Mormont and for others, and even made false teeth of ivory. He gathered tusks from a huge sea-beast called a “walrus” and that of an even larger land animal known as a “mammoth.” Braden became flustered when he mentioned mammoth ivory.

“Dejah knows,” Lyra said softly. “It’s alright.”

Apparently mammoth ivory was forbidden on this side of the Wall, as it came from trade with the Free Folk.

Pia, the newly-appointed laundress, exited the Keep as we entered. I nodded a greeting, then had a thought and stopped her.

“Pia,” I said, “This is Braden, an ivory carver of great skill.”

She placed her hand in front of her mouth, and said, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Lost your teeth, did you?” Braden instantly guessed. “Let me see.”

“It’s alright,” Lyra told her. “Braden has served our House since well before my birth.”

Shyly, Pia lowered her hand and tentatively opened her mouth.

“Ach, that’s terrible,” Braden said. “What monster did this? Don’t answer. Let me work.”

He pulled her lips apart with one hand, and with the other reached into a pocket to pull out a small tool that he used to prod and measure her teeth. She wished to run away, but Lyra took her hand and the girl remained in place.

“I can fix this,” Braden eventually said. “It will take months of work, and a great deal of carving.”

“I will pay whatever you require,” I told him.

“It shames me to take it, but a man has to eat. And buy tusks.”

He looked Pia in the eye for the first time, and gently touched the side of her face.

“You’ll be lovely again, girl. I promise you this.”

Flustered, and not fully believing her good fortune, she made the “curtsey” motion and hurried away.

After First Meal, we left Braden in conversation with Maege and took Longclaw and the bear’s head to Gendry’s new forge. I also took a basket of biscuits and bacon, knowing that Gendry would have skipped First Meal to rush to his new forge. Tansy smiled as she saw us leave.

“You know he’s not really your son, right?”

“I do know that,” I said. “He should not skip First Meal.”

She laughed and went to join Aly on a survey of the Keep’s foundations; I understood her joke. Gendry did remind me of Carthoris. We found him examining the forge and making adjustments.

“We heard you pounding hot metal,” I said. “I thought you had already started.”

“No,” he smiled. “That wasn’t hot metal. I just wanted to try the hammers and anvil a little. This was a well-kept forge, but I’m not used to it yet.”

I gave him the basket; he blushed and thanked me.

“My sister Lyra wields a Valyrian sword,” I said. “She would like some adjustments made.”

“Milady,” he bowed to her. “I’m happy to serve.”

“We’re on Bear Island now,” Lyra said. “I’m ‘Lyra’ here. Besides, you’re highborn now.”

“I don’t want to be treated as one. I was born a bastard.”

“I understand completely. So was I.”

“I’ll try to remember, Lyra.”

“Dejah tells me that you modified her sword.”

“I did. It was a joy to work with Valyrian steel.”

Lyra drew the sword Longclaw from its scabbard and laid it across both of her hands to give it to Gendry. He left it there and admired the blade.

“Oh my,” he said, breathing hard. “The Princess’ sword had been re-forged by my old master, Tobho Mott. It’s a thing of beauty. But this one . . . this is an original Valyrian sword, made in Old Valyria herself.”

“It’s known as Longclaw, and has been House Mormont’s sword for five hundred years,” Lyra said. “And my uncle gave it away.”

“How?” Gendry said in a hushed voice. “How could he?”

He picked up the sword very carefully.

“To leave a blade like this . . . what would you have me do to it?”

“Traditionally,” Lyra said, “it carried a bear on its pommel. Someone replaced it with a wolf, the symbol of Jon Snow’s house.”

“And you wish it replaced?”

“Yes. One of our good friends gave me this bear’s head this morning.”

She unwrapped the ivory bear so he could see.

“Could you tilt it?” Gendry asked, unwilling to put down the sword. “I thought so. It’s been carved specifically to serve as a sword’s pommel.”

Reverently, he placed the sword on a clean table next to him.

“The Princess had me extend the grip of hers so she could use it as a bastard sword. This blade already has that, do you wish to keep it?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll replace the wolf, and give the grip new leather. I can’t truly suggest any other changes. This sword is already magnificent.”

“Thank you; that will be fine.”

“Can you work on mine as well?” Beth asked, stepping into the forge. She did not like approaching a man, even Gendry, without another woman nearby and had hurried to join us when Tansy mentioned that we had taken Lyra’s sword to the blacksmith.

“Of course, Lady Beth,” he said. “Sorry, I mean Beth. Might I see it?”

She drew her sword and lay it across her hands as Lyra had done. Once again Gendry admired the fine work.

“I’ve studied drawings, but never seen this blade in them. This is also an original Valyrian sword, but it comes from a different workshop than Lyra’s, possibly one much older. It’s beautiful as well. Do you know its story?”

“Not really,” Beth said. “Dejah gifted it to me.”

“I killed its owner in a trial by combat,” I said. “His name was Lyn Corbray, and he called the sword Lady Forlorn. It had been in his family for many years.”

“It’s beautiful work,” Gendry said. “I seem to recall you taking a few other swords.”

“It is our way,” I said. “His brother called me whore and demanded that I give him the sword. I killed him as well.”

Gendry nodded.

“One would have to be either extremely drunk or very stupid to say such things to you.”

“He was both,” I said. “And now the sword belongs to Beth.”

He nodded again.

“Will you give it a new name?” he asked Beth.

“I follow the Princess’ thinking," she said. "A sword is a weapon, not a pet. It shouldn’t have a name, lest we grow too fond of it.”

“I agree completely. What would you like done?” He indicated the huge red stone, known as a ruby, set in its pommel. “Do you like this jewel?”

“It’s hideous,” Beth said. “If you could remove it?”

“Of course. Would you prefer an orb, like the Princess, or a bear, like Lyra?”

She thought.

“I don’t know. Can I think on it?”

“Of course. I’ll work on Lyra’s sword first. If you wish a bear pommel, the work is far beyond my skill. We would need to convince Lyra’s ivory-carver to make it for you.”

“I’m sure he would,” Lyra said. “He’s old and gruff, but will do anything for a pretty woman’s favor.”

“Is the hilt comfortable in your hands?” Gendry asked Beth, seeing her unease at Lyra’s comment. “I can extend it if you’d like.”

“It has been so far.”

“Show me, please.”

She took the sword in both hands, moving it slowly through evolutions while Gendry watched. She had been uncomfortable with him at first, but speaking of weapons relaxed her.

“The sword seems slightly long for you,” he said. He looked at me. “Princess?”

“I did not think you had the means to work Valyrian steel.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I could move the hilt up a little, make it a bastard sword but without extending the tang. That would make it seem shorter.”

I thought for a moment, studying the sword where Gendry indicated his proposal with his fingers. I turned to my apprentice.

“You would need to become used to the changed length and center of balance,” I said. “But I agree with Gendry that this would be a worthwhile alteration.”

“And the pommel?” Gendry asked Beth. “I can craft an orb now, and remove it later if you decide to add an ivory bear like Lyra’s.”

“That would be perfect,” Beth said. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything?” I asked him. “To get the forge working?”

“A couple of helpers would, well, help. There were some who came with us who would do fine, but I have no way to pay them.”

“You work for House Mormont now,” Lyra said. “Jeyne will take care of pay for you and whatever help or materials you need.”

“Jeyne?”

“Jeyne Poole,” Lyra said. “Tansy’s assistant. Small, brown hair, pretty. Moves and speaks in quiet.”

“Oh,” Gendry said. “I’ve seen her.”

He certainly had, and found her most attractive, but had lacked an excuse to approach her. Having found one pleased him enormously.

* * *

I had sixteen new recruits for the House Guard, and after sparring with each of them I decided to accept them all, including Meg, the would-be woman warrior. Nine of the men including Crodell and three hunters had been with us at Harrenhal – several had come North specifically in hopes of fighting alongside me again – and it pleased me to have them on Bear Island. I did not wish the former Brotherhood men to form a faction within the Guard, so I told Ronis to make sure they would be inter-mingled with the existing Guards.

As I had warned Beth during our ride across the North, a small woman like Meg simply could not match sword-strokes with a man. Beth worked with her in addition to her regular training, but Meg remained a potential weak point in the shield wall and I assigned her a spear. I considered rejecting her completely, but she desperately wanted to bear arms and I allowed her to continue even though I knew better.

The Guard’s overall progress pleased me; their sword-craft had vastly improved, they could work together as a unit, and discipline remained firm. The levies who reported for training needed far more work: most of the island’s battle-experienced men and women lay dead under the battlefields of the Riverlands. Weapons also seemed in short supply, with none having been retrieved from the dead, and the wagonloads of arms my sisters and I had looted from Castle Black now proved very useful. The weapons remained in the Mormont Keep armory; perhaps later we could fill the smaller armories of the minor holdfasts across the island. Or perhaps it would be better to keep the weapons close at hand.

Bear Island had faced two distinct threats over the previous decades: raids by the Iron Born and those by the Free Folk. No one had tried to conquer the island in living memory, and I could not determine the accuracy of old tales of Iron Born invasion. The Free Folk appeared to be extinct outside of Tormund’s tiny band, and they had always presented less of a threat than the Iron Born, who came in greater numbers bearing better weapons and a determination to make the long voyage worth their while.

Mormont Port stood at the head of a long inlet that widened as it approached the sea. Alysane told me that a small rocky island in the mouth of the inlet had once held a fortified observation post, and I sent Tansy’s raven to examine it. Through his eyes I saw that it indeed still existed but had not been occupied for many years.

“How many soldiers would it need?” Alysane asked when I discussed repairing and manning the little fort with her and Tansy. “For an adequate garrison that won’t just be sacrificed?”

“I would say ten,” I said. “To defend themselves, and see that the watch-fire is always ready to be lit.”

“Can they defend themselves?” Aly asked.

“I believe so,” I said. “The fort is small, but its walls are flush with the sea. An unwelcome landing will be very difficult, once the walls are repaired. A determined enemy willing to accept losses could capture it, but that is true of any fortification. The soldiers within cannot prevent its fall, but they can make it so costly that an enemy will decline to attack.”

“What kind of shape is it in?” Tansy asked.

“Not very good,” I admitted. “The walls and the living quarters need work, but most importantly the tower supporting the watch fire has crumbled. I suspect that the fire cannot be seen from Mormont Port when lit unless it is on top of the tower.”

“Else the tower wouldn’t have been built,” Aly completed my thought.

“Exactly,” I said.

“What do you think?” Tansy asked Alysane.

“I agree with Dejah,” she said. “It should be a priority. But I think we should expand the Guard by ten rather than weakening the garrison here.”

“I would like more men and women for the Guard,” I said. “The Keep was built for a larger garrison. Perhaps one hundred for the Keep and twenty for the watch outside, plus ten more for the observation post.”

“We can rebuild the island fort,” Tansy said. “But you’re talking about major repairs, on a spot accessible only by water. We’re going to need some of the stonemasons for that, when they finally arrive, and a ship to bring them there and back and haul materials.”

She turned to me.

“How important is the fort to the Keep’s defenses?”

“I do not know how likely an Iron Born attack might be,” I said. “But if it is indeed likely, then an early warning could be the deciding factor.”

“You killed an entire crew of them not two days’ sail from here,” Aly said, “not one moon’s turn ago. I’d rate it highly likely.”

“Without the tower,” I said, “I would not risk men and women in so isolated a spot where their warning might not even be seen.”

“I think that decides things,” Tansy said. “When we have stonemasons, the island fort will be their first priority.”

Unfortunately, we would see the Iron Born before we saw the stone workers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Tansy's raven uncovers treason.


	74. Chapter Fifty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris must enforce discipline.

Chapter Fifty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

The Mormont Way demanded physical labor from everyone capable of such, even the ladies of House Mormont, a number which now included one princess. After one day’s morning exercises and sword practice, I joined Jeyne in a small forest of apple trees known as an orchard. We brought a cutting tool for wood known as a saw; we have very similar tools on Barsoom, but as a princess I had never actually handled one until I came to this planet. Even before most of the island’s able adults had left for war the ground under the trees had become overgrown and the trees themselves had attempted to become wild.

Jeyne hoped that the orchard could be made productive again; Tansy had told her to tell me that this would mean that we could have more pie. We looked at the trees for signs of life, and Jeyne had me cut branches off some so she could look inside them. I also pulled up some of the small trees so she could look at their roots.

“Winterfell had fruit trees in its glass gardens,” she explained. “My father was in charge of the gardens, and I learned about grafting from him.”

“Grafting?”

“Apple trees won’t grow from seed the right way. You take a branch of the kind of apple tree you want, and connect it to the lower part of a healthy young apple tree. And then it grows into an apple tree of the kind you wanted.”

“There are many kinds of apples?”

“Many. Most of them are little and hard and not very good to eat. But the trees they come from are hardy. So we use those as what’s called root stock.”

“How did these trees survive a winter of many years? How do any trees survive?”

“They just . . . do. I suppose they go into a kind of tree-sleep. They lose their leaves for good and come to life in spring. Some of them, anyway. Many do not.”

I contemplated the nearest apple tree. The life here already struck me as very odd: it was persistent, clinging to the smallest foothold. And so very green. Some plants of Barsoom go into a form of stasis when they have no water, and then suddenly burst forth into life when a supply appears. Apparently, all plant life here did something similar, dropping into a death-like state in the cold of winter and then springing back to life.

It seemed that Jeyne had done the same.

“I have not heard you speak so many words before.”

Her face turned red. Not coppery-red like mine, but bright red.

“I . . . I know. Sometimes now I can go for an hour or more without thinking about . . . them. It.”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to remind you. I only marveled at your healing.”

“It’s easier now that Beth’s here,” she said. “All of the Mormonts have been so good to me, but you’re intimidating.”

“Intimidating?”

“Princess. You’re close to a foot taller than I, and you’ve been ripping saplings and even small trees out of the ground with your bare hands. You know how to fight, and you’re willing to kill to protect yourself and others. I saw you kill Lyn Corbray. You were fierce. Savage. I could never do that. Maybe Beth can. But that’s not me.”

“I am very good at killing people,” I allowed. “But I fear that makes me a monster, not a hero.”

“You were frightening after you killed Corbray. The look in your eyes, and that sound you made as you tore your sword out of his heart. But it meant Petyr would die, and I loved you for it.”

I noticed that she did not object when I named myself a monster.

“You are not less of a woman because you do not fight. A woman is far more than that. A woman does not have to fight at all. A woman should give life, not take it.”

That thought had suddenly occurred to me; I do not know that I had believed so until this moment.

“That’s true enough,” Jeyne said. “Lady Tansy doesn’t fight and she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Petyr used her too and she didn’t let him break her. Like he did me.”

“He raped you. Many times.”

“Yes. He called it training to be one of his girls.”

This was the first time I had heard Jeyne say this aloud, though I had known it from her thoughts.

“Jeyne. This is difficult for me to explain, because I am not of this place and I do not understand all of your ways. My own lands know nothing of the horror women here suffer. At least I believe this to be true; as a princess, I did not have to confront many ugly truths about my city and my grandfather’s rule of it.”

I was flying off on a tangent again, as often happened when I confronted something unpleasant.

“I am not very good at expressing my feelings. I mean to say that I admire you. You did not allow your suffering to break you.”

“It broke me. They broke me.”

“Yet here you are.”

“A frightened little mouse. Not even speaking. I’m nothing like you or Tansy or Beth.”

“Not in most ways. But you are strong. I am proud of you, and glad that you are my friend.”

She looked at the ground, then nodded once, quickly.

“I’m glad, too.”

“Is suffering the fate of every woman in these lands?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I grew up in a castle and even though my father was really a servant, he was the chief servant, so I was privileged. I had lessons with Sansa, the lord’s daughter, and she was my best friend. And with Beth, a knight’s daughter. Not the same level as a great lord, not by far, but much more than a servant.”

She paused while she studied an older tree branch for signs of life.

“I guess I resented Sansa’s privileges. She would marry a prince, she had fine gowns, that sort of thing. All that and she was beautiful, too. I was pretty but I wouldn’t get to marry someone who was high-born, maybe a soldier or a knight if I was very lucky. I don’t know what I thought about people who farmed or worked. I certainly didn’t think it meant being . . . used.”

I thought for a time before speaking, and cut another branch where Jeyne pointed. I liked the smell of the fresh-cut wood.

“I have always been privileged,” I finally said. “Far more even than Sansa. I never wanted for anything. My father and grandfather taught me that we must use our privilege to serve the people, not to be served. Even so, people served me.”

“Maybe you were sent here to do more than kill Jon Snow.”

I started to tell her that there are no gods, but stopped before I spoke. It did not escape me that she used the name of her childhood friend, not the creature he became.

“I will have to think about this. Now show me what you mean by ‘grafting’.”

We spent the rest of the day studying the apple trees. Jeyne pronounced herself confident that we could restore the orchard to growing apples, though it would be several years before the trees produced. 

* * *

In my next regular meeting with my officers, I described the plans for the small fortress in the mouth of the inlet, and to expand the Guard to provide a small garrison. I had introduced coffee to our sessions, and on this day Hot Pie had provided apple turnovers as well. All three of them strongly approved of both the plan and the treats.

“That little fort was abandoned about the time I signed on,” Ronis said. “They called it Carney’s Watch, but I never knew why. Lord Jorah pulled the garrison when we sailed for Pyke. Once we returned, he never sent them back, since the Iron Born had been swept from the seas, or so we thought.”

“I never knew it was even there,” Trisha admitted. Marsden shook his head as well. “How did they relieve the garrison and send supplies?”

“I always assumed it was by boat,” Ronis said. “But I never stood watch out there, and what wasn’t my business, wasn’t told to a stripling recruit. If I needed an opinion, Lord Jorah would tell me what that was.”

“Princess,” Trisha said, “does the island have a landing?”

“I did not see one,” I said. “The walls are flush with the sea, making it difficult to assault.”

“Then I’m wondering,” she said, “if there isn’t a tunnel heading out there from somewhere on the shore. Maybe we should be looking for a hidden entrance, and asking some of the old ones about it.”

She was absolutely correct. Not used to thinking about water as an obstacle, I had not considered the problems of landing troops and supplies.

“I will speak with Lady Maege,” I said. “Trisha, please find veterans old enough to have served there, or known those who did, and ask. Marsden, if you would take twenty from the garrison and search likely places on the shore where such a tunnel might start.”

“Yes, Princess,” they said together.

“Once we do occupy the place,” Ronis said. “We’ll need to rotate the garrison. And there’ll need to be an officer in command. I’d suggest naming a fourth rather than detaching one of us. We all have duty enough already.”

“I agree,” I said, “to both. We have 118 Guards now, counting the new recruits from the mainland. I will ask my sister to authorize twelve more for 130 total and pay for a fourth officer. She has already approved ten, but did not say whether those would come from the new recruits. I believe that we require more than we now have, even with the mainland recruits.”

“That’s true,” Ronis said. “I like your plan of keeping a strong reserve, but that’s difficult with a full watch on the walls and main gate, plus the watch we’ve put in the port.”

“Do you have recommendations for the fourth officer?” I asked.

“Someone older,” he said. “Who’ll be steady in an independent command, able to settle the personal conflicts of ten people in a very small place. Are you going to mix men and women?”

I thought for a moment.

“Under the Mormont Way, men and women are equal,” I said. “Discipline requires that we control our sexual drives. That applies whether we are in our own rooms in the barracks here, or huddled together in dugouts in the field. Separating our troops by gender would weaken discipline, and also pretends that men and women only desire those of the other gender, which we all know is not true.”

Ronis had been about to recommend single-gender garrisons, but nodded slowly. I looked at my other officers.

“Mixed,” Marsden said. That was a lengthy comment for him. “Mixed,” Trisha agreed.

“Very well,” I said. “I shall ask my sister to authorize pay and provisions for 130 Guards total, including four officers.”

* * *

Early one morning, I awoke to find Lyra sitting at the edge of our bed and gently touching my face. It seemed a pleasant dream, but she was really there.

“I had thought,” she said, “that no one could sneak up on you.”

“Our senses warn of us enemies,” I said. “They do not react to those who love us.”

I saw that Beth had arrived at some point during the night and nestled between Tansy and I. I tilted my head toward her sleeping form.

“I never felt her enter, either.”

“I’ve brought coffee. I wanted to speak with you and Tansy.”

Beth awakened and looked up at Lyra.

“I can leave,” she said.

“Please stay,” Lyra said. “Just don’t tell Jory.”

Beth nodded, and gently shook Tansy awake. We all moved to the table where Lyra had placed a pot of coffee, wooden mugs, and yet another heaping platter of Hot Pie’s wonderful apple turnovers. Lyra seemed very serious so I tried not to spy on her thoughts, or to appear too excited by the treat.

“I’ve had my moon blood,” she said when we had all poured ourselves coffee.

“Congratulations,” Beth said sarcastically, then saw that Tansy stared at her. “What?”

“I thought,” Lyra said, “that I might be with child.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “I didn’t know. Did you want to be?”

I grew confused. Tansy lay her hand on Lyra’s arm.

“Just a moment,” she said, and turned to me. “If you bear a child, your moon blood ceases. Not bleeding doesn’t always mean you have a child, but bleeding means you do not with very few exceptions.”

“I understand,” I said. I did not fully comprehend the biology behind this bleeding, but grasped some of what it meant for Lyra.

“I don’t know,” Lyra said to Beth. “It’s the Mormont Way: take your pleasure, take your chances. No moon tea. I had my pleasure at Winterfell, and turned down Tansy’s offer to prepare moon tea. I didn’t really want a child, but now I feel a little sad not to bear one.”

I did not fully understand her feelings, for we do not view children in the same manner, but I knew well the confusion of contradictory emotions. I knew her to be unhappy, and yet relieved at the same time, and felt great sympathy for my adoptive sister.

“I’d promised Tansy and Dejah we’d share raising the child, were there a child.”

“If it does happen,” Beth said, staring straight down into her coffee, “if you wouldn’t mind, I . . . if you could . . . never mind.”

“Include you as well?” Lyra asked.

“Yes,” she answered softly.

“Of course. You’re my sister, too.”

Beth nodded her thanks, this time failing to argue that she was Lyra’s cousin, and sipped her coffee to cover her inability to speak. I had not known her to have such feelings; I was filled with warmth toward my former apprentice and did not fully understand why.

“You would have been in danger,” I said to Lyra. “Would you not?”

“Yes,” Lyra said. “They call it the woman’s war, because it kills just as many women as war does men.”

“How?” I asked.

“It killed my mother,” Beth said. “She bled so heavily, the maester couldn’t stop it. Other women die of fever. I think that’s more common.”

“It is,” Tansy said. “I’ve never borne a child, but I’ve helped the midwife deliver a few. It doesn’t take much to injure your womb and cause you to bleed out. But the fever is the real killer. Not as many women as the stories would have you think, but more than it should be.”

Tansy went on to describe how a child exited its mother, and I began to see the problem. These people had no concept of infection, and the “midwives” – local women skilled in their art, but ignorant of science – were often placing their dirty hands inside the mother’s sex receptacle, with also served as a birth channel.

“I believe this fever is caused by the hands of the midwife,” I said. “Or the environment. Tiny creatures, so small they cannot be seen, enter the body and attack from within. It is much like the fever that almost killed me after I was stabbed by Black Walder.”

“You were already feverish,” Tansy said.

“That is true. You can acquire these creatures in many ways, often through dirty water. This is why I insist on boiling water, for the heat kills them.”

“So you’ve told us,” Tansy said. “You have other means to kill them? Besides boiling the mother’s insides?”

“I do. You have seen how heated wine can be effective?”

“Yes,” Tansy said. “I used it on you.”

“I remember screaming. I know how to make a form of wine even more potent that will kill such creatures on contact even when not heated. With more work I believe we can create other formulas that are even more effective.”

I put my hand over Lyra’s.

“If you do wish a child, I do not wish you to die. I will show your midwives how to make these special creature-killing liquids. Melly the healer can help me.”

“If it’s a concentrated form of wine,” Beth said, “you know people will want to drink it.”

I sighed.

“I know. Alcohol can be . . . a disease in itself.” I did not know the word for alcoholism in their language, and suspected it did not have one. “Its use becomes a compulsion that one cannot disobey.”

“We have plenty of people like that,” Tansy said. “Every village has its drunk.”

As did Helium. Through my neglect, I had allowed my son to become one of them.

“I do not doubt,” I said. “But this concentrated form is strong enough to kill a person if they drink too much. One can poison oneself with wine or ale, at least among our people, but that is very rare as the person will pass out before they can drink enough to kill them.”

“It’s that way for us as well,” Tansy said. “Usually they just become so used up they eventually die of something else, but everyone knows they really died of drink.”

“I would be unleashing a plague,” I said. Did I have the right to do so? I found that I did not care. “I would rather that Lyra remain alive.”

“You think it’s that effective?” Tansy asked. “And that deadly?”

“Yes, to both,” I said. “It is a simple device that separates alcohol. I will build one. The other solution I have in mind can be extracted from a mineral,” I had never seen coal in use here, “that I will have to investigate further.” 

* * *

As the sun rose, Tansy’s raven perched on the post at the end of our bed and screeched us awake – Tansy, Beth and myself. He did this on occasion, usually to demand corn, but on this day, he had brought a friend along with him, a slightly smaller raven who perched next to him and whose thoughts seemed somewhat embarrassed.

“Read!” cried Tansy’s raven. “Read! Read!”

The other raven held out its foot, to reveal a small tube attached to its leg. Beth detached the tube and pulled out a rolled piece of animal skin.

“Do they not seal these with wax?” I asked.

“For letters, yes,” Beth explained. “Put wax on one of these little scrolls and it won’t fit in the tube.”

“What does it say?”

She unrolled it and read aloud:

“Per instructions, have inventoried Castle Black library. Works you seek will be delivered as directed. Fear princess will kill me if books found missing. Can arrange for fire to cover removal. Instructions? Rolston.”

“The maester wishes to burn the library?” I said, amazed. “Are they not sworn to preserve knowledge?”

“Yes and no,” Tansy said. “Preserve knowledge, but keep it to themselves.”

“That is wrong.”

“I agree,” she said. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Corn!” suggested the raven. “Corn! Corn!”

“You have been very good birds,” I told the ravens. “You shall have corn.”

“What are we going to do about _this_?” Beth repeated, flapping the tiny scroll.

“Kill him,” I said. “Right now.”

“Kill!” the raven agreed. “Kill! Kill!”

“Not yet,” Tansy said. “We have to tell Maege, and put him to the question. We need to know what else he’s told the Citadel, and why they care about us out here on the island of nowhere.”

“Tansy is wise,” I said to Beth.

“I never doubted,” she said, looking at the note again. “And it’s a good question. But . . . it seems he’s asking if he should burn the library, not saying he’s doing it, and giving someone books he doesn’t want to be noted as missing.”

“Where is Maege?” Tansy asked. I concentrated and found her.

“In her chambers, dressing for the day.”

“I’ll go tell her and prepare an audience in her hall. You two can bring Rolston there.”

We all dressed in our Night’s Watch black leggings and tunics with Mormont surcoats, as befit a formal event on the island. Beth and I stalked across the courtyard to the Maester’s Tower side-by-side, drawing stares from the people going about their business. I spotted Trisha, likewise formally dressed and on her way to assume her duties in the Keep, and motioned for her to join us.

Tansy and I had not yet resumed our lessons with the maester, who became annoyed when he spotted our approach. He had hoped that we had lost interest following our journey to the mainland.

“I don’t have time for you,” Rolston said as we approached his office. “Come back later.”

He closed the door in our faces, and turned the latch to lock it. I kicked it open.

“You will come with us,” I said. “Or you may die where you stand.”

He stood in the middle of his office, holding a writing instrument. Beth plucked it out of his fingers and set it on his desk.

“You’ve done enough mischief with that,” she said. “Now you’ll answer for it.”

“He has committed treason,” I explained to Trisha. “We take him to Lady Mormont for judgement.”

“And yet you keep saying,” Trisha said, smiling broadly, “that there are no gods.”

He realized that we had intercepted his messages, but could not understand how this could have happened. Stunned, he stood still. Beth took him by the arm and propelled him toward the door.

“Unhand me, wench!” he shouted as he pulled his arm free. “You have no power over me.”

Beth slapped him across the face with the back of her hand.

“Search him,” I said.

She shoved him against the wall of the office and held him there while Trisha checked his robes, removing an apple and a dagger. As usual, he wore his gray robes and his chain of office, in which he took inordinate pride.

“You’ve broken your oaths,” Beth said, pulling the chain over his head and casually tossing it aside. “You don’t deserve to wear this.”

“I don’t answer to you, you little bitch.”

This time Trisha slapped him.

“Be silent,” I said. “You answer to Lady Mormont and her daughters. You will do so now.”

With Beth and Trisha each holding one arm, we marched him out of the tower, across the courtyard and into the Keep. People on the courtyard stared at us, but none sought to intervene. Rolston was not a popular figure on Bear Island.

Inside Maege’s small dining hall, Tansy had gathered Aly, Lyra and Jory as well as Maege. They had moved a table to one end of the hall where they all sat flanking our adoptive mother, with an open space in front of it where my companions deposited the sputtering maester. He slipped, but quickly righted himself and stood staring at Maege and my sisters. I stood behind him, flanked by Beth and Trisha.

“Lady Mormont!” Rolston gasped. “These . . . these three trollops assaulted me. They violently laid hands on me and humiliated me in front of the Keep’s people. The Cassel bitch struck me, as did this commoner.”

“You’ve been in communication with the Citadel,” Maege said.

“That is among my duties, yes.”

“We have reason to believe you have grossly exceeded those duties.”

“I swore oaths!”

“You will speak in a respectful tone,” Maege said. “You’ve already insulted two of my daughters and an honored soldier in a few short moments. Don’t test my patience further.”

“Yes, Lady Mormont.”

“Now,” she began. “Are you planning to burn the library my daughters and I rescued from Castle Black?”

“Of course not!”

“He lies,” I said. “He is willing to do so to hide his theft.”

“You have no say,” he snapped at me.

“She has every say,” Maege replied. “She is a daughter of House Mormont and beyond that she can determine truth from lie.

“Again. You are planning to burn the library?”

“I’m sworn to preserve knowledge! I would never countenance such a crime!”

“He did not wish to,” I said. “But he feared that we would know he had given books to someone.”

“Who gave you these orders?” Maege asked.

“There were no such orders,” he said. “The woman spins a fantasy.”

“Someone named Willifer,” I said, “put him in contact with another whose name he does not know.”

“Do not slander that name,” Rolston said. “Your lies are as brazen as your skin.”

“Maester Rolston,” Maege said, holding up the scroll we had taken from the raven. “If my daughter lies, how then do you explain this?”

“She is not your daughter, and that is a forgery.”

“She is my daughter, and you reject this document before I even read it aloud?”

“Lady Mormont,” he said, now taking on a calmer tone. “I know the death of your true daughter Lady Dacey has been traumatic. You cannot replace her with these three strumpets.

“I know who and what they are. Two of them are King’s Landing whores, wanted criminals who seduced and murdered the queen. The third is a bed slave escaped from Tyrosh, likewise wanted for murder. Even now the three of them indulge their unnatural passions together under your roof. That they take on airs and wear the colors of your House is an insult to all who died to keep their oaths to you.”

“Enough!” Maege shouted, slamming her hands on the table and rising to her feet. “You’ll not slander my House with that tongue and hope to keep it!”

“Maege,” I said. “He hopes that these insults will divert your attention from his crimes.”

She returned to her seat.

“And they might well have succeeded. You removed books, to sell to an unknown person or persons?”

He said nothing, looking at the floor.

“He did,” I said. “He does not know who wished to have them, and this shames him.”

“You did not think,” Maege continued, “to ask permission, from myself or my Hand, Lady Tansy?”

“She is no lady!” he spluttered. “A gutter whore who’s somehow charmed you.”

“I suppose,” Tansy interjected, “that means our lessons are at an end?”

“He desires my sister sexually,” I said. “And harbors a great deal of resentment toward her as a result. I cannot explain why these are connected.”

“Because she’s beneath me!” he acknowledged my interpretations of his thoughts for the first time. “Wanting a whore is a base desire.”

“He thinks of harming her when he touches his sex organ.”

“I understand,” Maege said. “And we’re getting diverted again. Who wanted those books? And why?”

Realizing that his thoughts betrayed him, and bewildered at how I accessed them though not surprised that I could do so, he concentrated on my sister’s nude form, or how he imagined it. The attempt did not help him.

“He does not know. He was offered a place in King’s Landing if he cooperated.”

“Yes!” he said. “I’m an old man who wanted to die at home, surrounded by women who know their proper place. Not here. Anywhere but here.”

“He speaks the truth.”

“What else did you give this unknown person?”

“Nothing of value.”

“He reported on developments here. His contact was very interested in me.”

“What did they wish to know of my new daughter? And what did you tell them?”

“That you’re enthralled to a red she-demon,” he spat in a harsh whisper.

“This person wished to know of my abilities, whether I attempt to take power in the North and if I raise an army. Rolston was warned that I can decipher thoughts.”

“Curious,” Maege said. “That doesn’t sound like your husband.”

“No,” I agreed. “And my husband would approach directly. He knows nothing of subtlety.”

“You spied,” Maege returned to Rolston, “and stole, in exchange for a mere promise?”

He remained silent, having given up hope of hiding his thoughts or defending himself.

“The man who mentored him at the Citadel vouched for the unknown contact. That was enough for Maester Rolston.”

Maege tapped the ends of her fingers together, considering what to do with her maester.

“Daughters? Opinions?”

“Take his head,” Beth said. “He’s broken his oaths to the Citadel and this House.”

“If we did that,” Alysane said, “they’d never send us another. And if every House did that, there would be none of their order left alive.”

Maege nodded, and asked Trisha to summon the pair of Mormont soldiers waiting outside the doors. Jarack and Trevan returned with her.

“Please place him in the cells under the Keep,” Maege told them. “Deepest and darkest we have. I need to speak of this with my daughters.”

They looked confused, accustomed to treating the maester with respect.

“He’s broken his oaths,” Aly said, “and endangered my sisters. There’s no need to be gentle.”

They grabbed him by the arms and dragged him away. He remained silent. Trisha followed and kicked Rolston in the abdomen several times once they were out of our sight, and punched him in the face until his nose broke. Like most of the female soldiers she had adopted hobnailed boots in imitation of me, and she also broke several of his ribs. The soldiers, knowing of her sister’s treatment at his hands, merely held the disgraced maester in place for her.

“I must follow Rolston,” I said, surprising my family. “I shall return shortly.”

The soldiers and Trisha had not gone far. Beth had followed me out the door and instantly saw what had drawn my attention.

“Lieutenant,” I address Trisha by her formal title. “This is not acceptable conduct.”

She thought to argue, but instead came to attention.

“Yes, Princess,” she said. “I’ve no excuse, Princess. These men had no part in it.”

“That is not true,” I said. I looked at Trevan and Jarack. “Take the prisoner to the cells without further harm. You will report to me in the morning, before exercises, for additional duties.”

“I expected better of you,” I said when the men were out of hearing range. “You are an officer, expected to lead by example. Do not take liberties with our friendship.”

She looked at Beth, who stared into her eyes without expression, and back at me.

“It won’t happen again,” Trisha said. “I’m ready for whatever punishment you issue.”

She expected to permanently lose her officer status, which would crush her. I should have done so but allowed my fondness for her to interfere; Maege was not wrong to be concerned for this weakness in my character.

“You shall be reduced in rank for a period to be determined,” I said. “During which you shall serve as my personal steward. Perform in a satisfactory manner and I will consider restoring your officer status. You are dismissed.”

I turned and walked back into the conference room with Beth at my heels.

“Is everything all right?” Maege asked.

“A matter of discipline,” I said. “It has been addressed.”

“What happened in the hallway?”

“Trisha beat Rolston,” I said. “I have reduced her in rank, and will punish Trevan and Jarack with additional duties for having assisted her.”

“Command is lonely,” Maege said. “She took liberties because she felt privileged by your friendship. You already knew that. Don’t forget it again. Who’ll take her place commanding her watch shift?”

“I will,” Beth said, instantly. “I knew how angry she was.”

“You didn’t beat a prisoner in custody.”

“If I’d been in the hallway, I would have helped her, too.”

“Very well,” Maege said. “If Dejah didn’t read thoughts, no one would have known what happened in that hallway. But that’s when honors matters, in the places where no one will ever know.

“Now, Dejah,” Maege went on, “someone who knows a great deal about you has a great deal of interest in your doings.”

“I will leave immediately,” I said. “If I am a danger to you or your family.”

Beth slipped over to stand so close that she rubbed against me.

“Not without me,” she said softly so that only I could hear.

“Our family,” Maege said. “And you’ll remain on the island as long as you wish. Here we stand.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Lyra added. “But Rolston’s another matter. What will we do with him?”

“Kill him quietly in the cells,” Jory spoke up, shocking me. “And tell the Citadel he had an accident.”

Maege and my other sisters were equally shocked, and stared at our little sister. She returned our gaze levelly.

“No one threatens my sister and lives to tell of it.”

A sentiment little different from that for which I had just stripped my friend Trisha of her life’s greatest achievement.

“Dead men tell no tales,” Maege said. “Or so it’s said. And I suspect we haven’t learned everything from Rolston just yet.”

“That bastard birthed both of my children,” Alysane said.

“And two of mine,” Maege added. “I’m as shocked and appalled as any of you. And perfectly willing to have him strangled, or do it myself. I don’t see any other ending for him. But we’ll keep him in the cells for now, and see what comes for him by raven.”

She turned to address me, noting Beth hovering protectively at my shoulder.

“What did the raven tell you?”

“They are not as intelligent as people,” I said. “But moreso than most beasts. The other raven told him how secretively Rolston had acted, that he cursed the bird and did not provide corn. Tansy’s raven thought we should see what caused Rolston to act so strangely. He is protective of Tansy and has disliked Rolston’s hostility to her.”

“Where was the raven heading?”

“King’s Landing,” I answered. “A small rookery within the Red Keep, not the large one the ravens usually visit. The birds rarely know, or care, which human receives their message.”

“That’s one damned fine bird,” Maege said. “Be sure he has corn. Both of them.”

“I shall do so.”

“What shall we do for a maester?” Aly asked.

“As Jory says, he had an accident,” Maege said. “We’ll ask for another. You and Tansy will search his chambers now. Read all of his correspondence. Try to find the books he set aside for his mysterious friend; perhaps that will give a hint.

“Jory, you’ll tend the ravens from now on. Jeyne can assign a helper if you need one. Tansy, please let Melly know she’s now the healer for all of the Keep. She should train at least one new helper as well. All of us, as well as Tycho and Jeyne, will divide his teaching duties.

“Not a word of this to anyone as yet. If someone asks, tell them Rolston is aged and very ill. Dejah, be sure the two guards and the jailer know to remain silent as well. Go now, I wish to speak with Dejah and Beth.”

She signaled us to join her on the balcony overlooking the Keep, town and inlet below.

“You two are still insecure in your place here.”

She made it a statement, not a question.

“Everything he said about us is true,” I said. “I was a whore, if only briefly, and I killed Cersei following sex with her.”

“And I was a bed slave,” Beth said. “Though not a very good one: I killed my owner.”

She paused.

“Not everything he said was true. The three of us, we don’t . . .”

“That’s your own concern,” Maege said. “I’ll not judge you. True or false, it does not change my love for you. Either of you.”

She looked out over the inlet and drew a loud breath.

“I can’t recall giving either of you a direct order before,” she continued. “I am now. Never doubt that you are my daughters. Your place is here.”

She hugged us both.

“Someone out there knows more than he or she should,” she said. “Whatever the scheme, we all face it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris faces her greatest challenge yet: small children.


	75. Chapter Twenty-One (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter ponders why one would bring a honeycomb and a jackass into a brothel.

Chapter Twenty-One (John Carter)

I called my leading generals to the conference room, where the artisans had finished the pair of map tables. These impressed me; they included carefully crafted hills and mountains raised off the table, and painted forests and fields. They’d been done in a realistic style without the fanciful depictions of mythical monsters that seemed to dominate much of this world’s art.

“Lodovico,” I asked my chief of staff to begin, “a brief summary of the army’s state.”

He placed small red blocks on the map outside Meereen.

“Infantry,” he said, holding one up for all to see. “Ten thousand per division. We have eight of them ready for operations outside Meereen. Two more at New Ghis, conducting the siege. Ser Jorah reports two new divisions of Qartheen ready to march for Meereen when ordered.”

He placed all the rest of the red blocks on the map.

“Dothraki cavalry,” he held up a black block. “Each a khas of five thousand. One khas watching the south coast. Twenty more outside Meereen, two at Qarth, two at the Lhazarene city Kosrak. There are an additional twenty thousand riders watching the Plains of the Jogos Nhai, and perhaps fifty thousand who could be summoned from the Great Grass Sea.

“Hyrkoon cavalry,” he held up a silver block, placing it outside Meereen. “One division of five thousand here, small detachments in the four major cities.

“And finally the Companions,” he placed a large, flat orange marker outside Meereen. “Thirty thousand all told including Unsullied, Dothraki, Hyrkoon, armored heavy cavalry and of course the Qartheen camelry.”

“And garrisons,” Selmy took over smoothly. “Five thousand infantry in each of the four major cities plus each of the three Lhazarene cities. Fifteen thousand Hyrkoon in their own cities. Just under 40,000 in training establishments. We’re turning away recruits.”

That would allow a field army of 135,000, plus 100,000 Dothraki. Such a horde would absolutely denude the land over which we moved, and fall into starvation within weeks even if the weather remained clear. I recalled a bitter retreat through deep snow, when only part of Moscow had burned and the remainder offered plentiful food and shelter. I did not wish to repeat that experience.

“And their equipment?” I asked.

“Almost all are now uniformed in the gray tunics and trousers you specified,” Lodovico said. I had wished my army to resemble that of the great Southern Confederacy, but with clothing modeled on loose-fitting Dothraki garb rather than the tight-fitting uniforms we had worn during the late unpleasantness. “And a wide-brimmed black hat for field wear, a steel helmet for battle. Perhaps one in three have received their helmets.”

He nodded to Syrello Ormaar.

“We’ll need perhaps two more turns of the moon to upgrade all crossbows to Myrish standard,” he said. “The pikemen are all equipped with weapons and shields.”

“Ko Pono?”

“Many Dothraki now have leather armor, a horse-arack, lance and bow,” he said. “Likewise, perhaps one in three. The city Meereen, even with the other cities, can’t make enough to arm them all. We will need the weapons and leather gifted by the cities Myr and Pentos for that.”

I looked to Orange Cat.

“The heavy armored infantry you desired is perhaps halfway ready,” he said, a long statement for any Unsullied. “The grenadier companies perhaps the same.”

I had ordered each regiment to train and equip a company of fifty grenadiers, carrying a sack of iron grenades filled with gunpowder, and a burning match to light their fuses. It was dangerous work, suited only to volunteers who received extra pay, and those strong enough to both lug a useful number of grenades and throw them a reasonable distance.

“When the dragons are ready,” I said, “along with the heavy infantry and the grenadiers, we march. Don’t think of the dragons as the solution to every problem. They’re young and lack discipline, and they can only be in one place at one time. This is a war to be won with sword and spear, not with dragon flame.”

I motioned to Rastifa, who pointed out the march routes we would take. I knew Qhono to be uneasy speaking before a large number of non-Dothraki, and he had asked her to make the presentation for him.

“Ko Qhono’s scouts report no difficulties moving armies here, north of the Painted Mountains and along the southern edge of the Great Grass Sea,” she said. “The crawlers will march nearer the mountains, and the Dothraki on our right flank, in the grasslands.”

Even in her working attire - Dothraki trousers, a vest left open to bare her bosom, no jewelry or powder on her face and her hair tied back behind her head - my intended revealed a stark and simple beauty. I could come to love this woman.

“Our objectives,” she went on, less distracted than I, “are first the city Selhorys, on the river Rhoyne, where we must secure the bridge, and then the town Galati, to meet the ships of Melennis.”

We had forded the broad river much farther north when I led my khalasar to Vaes Dothrak. By Qhono’s reports and Lodovico’s assessment, we would not be able to build a bridge of boats over it. We had to have the bridge at Selhorys, and we had to have it intact.

“Lord Varys reports,” Rastifa said, “that the cities Mantarys and Tolos represent a threat. His spies believe they will assault the city Meereen after our departure. I recommend that we strike first.”

She indicated the cities, Tolos on the north shore of Dragons’ Bay, to the west of Meereen, and Mantarys inland and further west still.

“We could use the dragons,” my princess, eager to match Rastifa’s contribution, interjected. “Their first use in battle.”

She was not wrong. I pondered the suggestion; Rastifa looked at me, thinking that I should agree.

“I agree,” I said, to be rewarded with smiles from my wife and my intended. “Ser Barristan will take two divisions along the coast road and invest the city of Tolos. Admiral Melennis, please institute a blockade of the port. Ko Jhaqo, you’ll lead your khas here, between Tolos and Mantarys, to assure that Ser Barristan is not attacked from the rear.

“When Tolos is invested, we’ll use Drogon, the black dragon, to create a breach. He’s not quite ready to attack from the air so my thought is to use him as siege artillery, walking him up to the gate and blasting it and the surrounding parapets with flame.”

“The Tolosi use slingers,” Syrello offered. “They throw a heavy lead bullet at high speed that will punch through armor. Might they not also penetrate a dragon’s scales?”

“I don’t believe so,” I said. “But I’d rather not discover the truth of it at the cost of injury or death to one of the three dragons in this world. We’ll build mantlets to protect him, and bring him up a wide trench just like an artillery piece, then bathe the targets in flame. The infantry will follow up as soon as the flames clear.”

“A dragon is made to fly,” Daenerys said. “Will he tolerate crawling through the mud?”

“Our soldiers do so,” I said. “And so shall Drogon. He wishes to please, and this act will please us all greatly. The soldiers will see him fight alongside them, and we remove the risk of his torching some of our own men by accident. I want them to trust the dragons and see them as a symbol of our rule, my love. Trust is built slowly, and it’s built through actions.”

I paused, considering.

“But you are correct, my princess. A dragon can breathe flame, and that makes it easy to forget that he is made to fly. We now have the ability to infiltrate small groups of fighters essentially anywhere we wish - behind enemy walls, atop their gates, onto bridges, or at their supplies of food and water. We will train for this.”

“The bridge at Selhorys,” Daenerys said. “We will take it by stealth, with the aid of dragons.”

“Precisely, my princess.”

* * *

We held the ceremony in the central square, which was filled with people of all classes but ringed with Hyrkoon guards. First Ser Barristan spoke on my behalf, and then Kainaz on that of Rastifa. I stood on a small raised platform, flanked by Rastifa and Daenerys, each of them dressed in finery they had chosen themselves. Daenerys wore sheer white silk, cut in the Qartheen fashion and embroidered with dragons. I instantly desired her, yet Rastifa matched her by wearing only a golden skirt with matching arm rings. Red powder decorated her face, neck and bosom.

Lizhi, Kinvara and Galazza jointly presided, each leading the three of us through a brief series of repeated vows. We exchanged rings, we kissed, and we were married in the eyes of gods unknown to me. As we had agreed, I kissed both women but they did not kiss one another though they did exchange rings.

Afterwards, flanked by my wives, I took a solemn oath, echoed by Daenerys and Rastifa, to rule for the good of the people and protect them from harm. I then placed a golden crown on the heads of first Daenerys and then Rastifa, and they jointly did the same for me. I then proclaimed the Empire established.

Arianne had no role, but neither she nor her cousins made any trouble during or after the ceremony. They offered congratulations in a perfectly acceptable manner, though in their thoughts they considered me a fool and, if not a liar, then at least a betrayer. Arianne’s mother came from one of the Free Cities, and by her logic that made her a bridge between the two continents and far more worthy an Empress than Rastifa the Beautiful. I disagreed.

With the marriage and coronation complete, we moved to the third level of the pyramid, which had once housed training halls for guards and pit fighters. The usual lightweight partitions had been taken down, though the thick structural supports remained, and we finally admitted about twelve thousand people to join us for a fine feast. Beyond the leading figures of my armed forces and government, attendees had been selected by random lot.

Outside the pyramid, stalls had been set up to distribute free food to as many as wished it - including fresh bread, vegetables and meat. I would not pass up any opportunity to bind the masses more closely to my new regime, and in the near term I did not want what should be a display of secure power to be marred by street protests.

* * *

My second wedding night took place much like the first, under the stars on a bed prepared by my servants. This time Doreah’s services would not be needed, and I took first my princess and then Rastifa. Daenerys curled next to us, watching, and bade me lie on my back with Rastifa straddling me while Daenerys leaned across to kiss me intensely as I reached my climax. That magnified my own reaction so much that Rastifa gasped and placed her hands on Daenerys’ shoulders for balance. I knew from her thoughts that Doreah had choreographed this for Daenerys, but I appreciated the gesture all the same.

I very much wanted to see my wives kiss one another, but from her thoughts Daenerys was not willing and I would not force my beloved princess to do something that she did not wish. Rastifa remained simply curious, and would have done whatever was suggested. I decided to wait until Doreah was fully healed and then summon her together with Lynesse again.

As much as I enjoyed my wives together, I knew that this night was a one-time affair, due to our joint marriage. If I wished two women at once, I would need to make use of my Imperial Concubines.

And following my latest marriage I continued to service the Hyrkoon, as I had agreed, and I indeed made use of my Imperial Concubines. I allowed Doreah more freedom within the Great Pyramid, to reward her for her good work with Daenerys, but of the three only Calye was permitted to leave the building. She had begun to form her own squad of what she called Dragon Guards, training women she had recruited from the city streets. I had granted her a small allowance, which she used to pay them, and Belwas assisted her in training them when it did not interfere with his other duties.

I placated Lynesse with more baubles - jewels, fine clothing, artwork - and her anger with me subsided. She did not forget, nor forgive, her false belief that I had exceeded my rights to force myself on her, but determined to not allow it to derail her pursuit of power. As much as I enjoyed her bedroom skills and her spectacular bosom, she was in no way a woman comparable to Daenerys or Rastifa. She would never be an Empress, but I saw no reason to shatter her illusion.

As I write this, I realize that I hold a deep anger against Doreah for many crimes, yet have never resented her for Lynesse’s fate. Lynesse amused me for a time, but ultimately meant nothing to me.

* * *

After several weeks of work, I felt both the dragons and my princess ready for a longer flight. We would take two dragons, Drogon and Viserion, to inspect the siege of New Ghis and Mormont’s progress at Qarth. Rastifa would be in command in my absence, while both Missandei and Tyrion flew with Daenerys on Drogon and I took Lodovico and Calye with me aboard Viserion. I allowed Rhaegal to fly alongside us, but he bore no rider.

As much as I liked Rhaegal, he was the runt of the litter. I could guide him telepathically, but he would not accept any other commands whether by voice or the reins we had rigged for the dragons. Telepathic contact seemed to comfort him, and he eagerly sought it when he saw me. While he would let me take passengers, in effect I was the only person who could ride him.

This time we followed the shoreline, stopping for the night in both Yunkai and Astapor to meet with Plumm and Kainaz. Kainaz appeared at my chamber during the night, but as Daenerys had barely met her, I took her back to her own rooms to make love to her.

The flight to New Ghis took days, requiring us to camp under the stars for several nights. As was my habit, I took Daenerys at night and Calye in the morning; I felt a stab of jealousy and resentment from Tyrion each time I did so with either woman, while Lodovico found the arrangement highly amusing though he said nothing aloud.

When we finally reached New Ghis, our troops had stormed into the city two days before, accomplishing the conquest with minimal casualties. The city’s leadership had been put to the sword, and its defenders given what had become the standard choice of enlistment or beheading. Once again, most chose to join our forces.

I ordered Grey Worm to oversee the establishment of a garrison and military government, and the shipping of the remaining troops and new recruits to Meereen. Meris went with us aboard Drogon; I was very pleased with her conduct of the siege. She had been harsh with the Ghiscari leaders, but that had been my intent when I gave her the command. Selmy would have spared them on their honor; Daenerys would have left them in power. Meris put them in the ground.

The flight to Qarth brought us over lush farmland, dotted with villages and towns but no cities. We would have to send troops through the area to establish my rule, but I saw no evidence of fortifications or garrisons. The land rose to hills and finally small mountains, and I brought the dragons down atop either a large hill or small mountain for a closer look.

“What did you hope to see, my chieftain?” Daenerys asked. “It’s a beautiful land, but empty.”

We could see farms in the valley below, but though the hills appeared fertile they were not under cultivation.

“Tea,” I said. “Are any of you familiar with it?”

“An herbal drink,” Lannister said. “It’s made from crushed and dried flowers called chamomile. There are some other varieties, but as it’s not alcoholic, I can’t say I have great experience of it.”

“What colors? I asked.

“Red,” he said, trying to remember. “Orange. Yellow, I think.”

“Black?”

“Not that I can recall. Ladies drink it in the afternoon.”

“Do you mean cha, my Emperor?” Missandei asked. “A black or dark golden drink, slightly bitter, with uplifting effect like coffee, but milder.”

“Exactly!” I said, pleased to know that tea existed in this world. Missandei rarely spoke directly to me, and I knew she feared that I would command her to relieve my bodily needs, which had never been my intention. I did not hold her dusky skin against her, but neither did I find her attractive. “Tell me more.”

“It comes from Yi Ti,” she said. “Some hold it to be a sacred drink. There is a ban on its export, which makes it both expensive and desired. The Good Masters of Astapor considered it a mark of their wealth and sophistication to serve it.”

“So it’s only available from smugglers,” I said, completing her thoughts aloud.

“Yes, My Emperor. It is death to export the tree from which it is grown.”

“It’s a bush,” I said, recalling having seen tea plantations and holding up my hand. “About so high. It grows best on hillsides just like these.”

“It will be difficult to obtain,” Missandei said. “I don’t know any of the smugglers who brought it to Astapor, only that it was a rare event when a tiny amount could be purchased, and that was done in great secrecy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lodovico said, laughing and slapping Drogon’s scales. The dragon regarded him with one eye, unsure whether to be displeased at the familiarity. “This big boy can take care of that.”

“By burning the tea?” Daenerys asked. “That solves nothing.”

“By flying to the plantation with a gardener or two, My Empress,” Lodovico said. “Perhaps a guard or two to protect them in case of trouble. Fly in by night, dig up the plants, fly away. Repeat as often as needed. The Yi Ti need never know that their secret’s been breached.”

* * *

We reached Qarth on a fine morning, and flew around the city walls before landing in the gardens of Xaro Xhoan Daxos. He hurried out to see what had disturbed his breakfast, fussily complaining through his tears that the dragons had flattened some of his prized flowers.

“Do not fret, Xaro,” I said, again perturbing him with the shortened version of his name. “I’ve brought you opportunity to make yet another fortune. You should thank the dragon; he’s going to make you rich again.”

He looked up at Drogon, who stared back.

“Thank you, Lord Dragon,” he said, then turned to me. “I hear that I must now call you Emperor.”

“You hear correctly,” I said. “Emperor and Warlord, either will do.”

“My Empress,” he bowed to Daenerys. “Imperial Concubine. General Lodovico.”

He apparently had informed himself of affairs in Meereen, to an extent.

“Meris is a newly-appointed general,” I said, surprising and pleasing the unsightly woman. “Missandei of Naath is translator, lady in waiting and special friend to the Empress Daenerys.”

“My ladies,” he bowed. “I am pleased to be Xaro Xhoan Daxos, once the richest merchant prince of Qarth, until I was impoverished by John Carter.”

“Xaro exaggerates,” I said. “Though perhaps only slightly. Come now, send a messenger for Lord Mormont, share your breakfast with us, and answer my questions about Qarth. In return I’ll tell you how to become even more rich than you were before I liberated this city.”

“So you say, My Emperor.”

Xaro Xhoan Daxos spread a fine table, with delicacies ranging from caviar to veal, and that just for breakfast. I told him of my intent to steal both tea and tobacco from the Empire of Yi Ti, using dragons, and he gladly volunteered to recruit the gardeners and provide the location to nurse the seedlings.

I knew that in my own world and time, the British had built an empire by stealing tea from the Chinese and transplanting it to India. People will pay a great deal for luxuries, and if that trade enriched Xaro Xhoan Daxos and similar vermin, it would also fund my plans for an empire of my own.

* * *

Mormont arrived as we enjoyed after-breakfast coffee; as always at the table of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, an excellent roast imported directly from the Summer Isles. I intended to conquer those lands when opportunity presented itself; the dark-skinned inhabitants would be enslaved, no doubt to their benefit. He brought with him his two khaleen advisors, the elderly Vorsakhi and her friend Ayolli, the merchant prince Egon Emeros the Exquisite, and Ko Motho who commanded the garrison’s Dothraki khas. The khaleen both dressed in Qartheen fashion, which I found somewhat disturbing.

“You’ve made my wife your whore?” Mormont asked me, immediately after a cursory bow.

“Imperial Concubine,” I said, following his thoughts. “Just like Calye.”

Calye bent back her head and proudly showed her golden collar.

“So, a fancy whore.” He looked back at Calye. “No offense intended to you Calye, only to Lynesse.”

“Couldn’t agree . . . agree more.”

“So,” Mormont returned his attention to me. “My wife is your whore?”

“You could say that. The official title is Imperial Concubine.”

“I’d rather call her ‘whore’,” he said. “It’s still better than she deserves.”

“I would consider it a courtesy,” I said, “if you did not do so in public.”

“I can’t give her courtesies,” he said. “The best I can offer is to ignore her in public, call her whore should we ever meet in private.”

“You don’t wish to challenge me, defend her honor?”

“You may recall that I tried that already,” Mormont said. “It didn’t turn out so well.”

“Her new position doesn’t trouble you?”

“Not particularly,” Mormont said. “Better she warm your bed than chill mine.”

“You see,” Vorsakhi cackled, “you took her to your bed, and it made you both happier.”

“You promised me,” I reminded her, “that you would be dead by now.”

“Your Andal needed us,” the crone said. “I saved him from foolishness, more than once. There will be time enough to ride the Night Lands.”

“That’s true enough,” Mormont said. “I’d have burned this place to the ground, left to my own devices.”

“Tell me about Qarth.”

Mormont, the khaleen and the merchant princes took turns telling the story. Qarth, it seemed, had recovered from our conquest, with the former slaves now beginning to find work of their own. All slaves were now free, a change that caused both Egon Emeros and Xaro Xhoan Daxos to burst into tears.

“They do that for show,” Mormont said. “They’re actually making more money, since they only have to pay workers when they work, and they can replace the ones who don’t.”

“The Andal,” Egon Emeros gasped between sobs, “forces we, the Pureborn of Qarth, to walk the streets like any commoner, and lets the slaves take on airs just because they have money.”

“Did you not also,” I asked, “take on airs just because you had money?”

“That,” he said, “is different.”

Mormont then explained that Egon Emeros had actually proven useful, convincing merchant captains to return their ships to Qarth and bringing the city’s satellite towns and fortresses under my rule. Unlike the cities of Dragons’ Bay, Qarth had not been able to fully feed itself from its hinterland. The city was now well-supplied with food and other goods from Great Moraq, the huge island directly to the south that served as its granary, and trade with the East had revived.

“The weeping’s difficult to bear,” Mormont said, “but trade and manufactures have resumed, per your orders. We just completed the final phase of freeing the slaves.”

“As I have told Xaro Xhoan Daxos,” I said, “I have a plan to obtain cha and tobacco by stealth, and grow them in our newly-conquered lands.”

“I dealt in tobacco,” Egon said. “But cha is impossible to obtain. The Empire of Yi Ti has made its export a capital offense.”

“No one will export it,” I said. “My general Lodovico has suggested a means to obtain samples of both plants. We’ll grow it ourselves.”

“Its rarity drives cha beyond price,” Egon said. “A regular supply . . . the profits could be beyond counting.”

His thoughts showed greed so deep that he forgot to shed tears.

“My Emperor,” Xaro interrupted, “did you not promise a monopoly to me?”

“I did not,” I said. “I gave you both this information long before any other merchants will know of this plan. If you’re not able to capitalize on that foreknowledge, then you don’t deserve to profit by it.”

By the time the crops were ready, the ships, warehouses and sales infrastructure would likewise be ready to sell the harvests.

I had been unsure that a rough-hewn disgraced knight and a pair of barbarian crones could effectively rule one of this world’s great cities, but they appeared to have done so. I decided to leave them in place until we invaded Westeros; Mormont had begged my wife to prevail on me to include him, and I would grant the request.

I saw that his unnatural attraction to my princess continued, and leaving him far away would spare him from unfortunate words or deeds. His thoughts, as he imagined relations with her, revealed that he had recruited a whore who resembled her. Mormont employed her to impersonate Daenerys; she called him “my bear” and he responded with “khaleesi” while she dominated him in a manner I found repulsive.

I smiled as I reminded myself that while he would never touch my wife, in a few days I would enjoy his. A man is entitled to his private thoughts, as long as they remain private.

After a visit of a few days we flew back to Meereen, following the chain of visual-telegraph stations and landing at a few to inspect them. I told the workers that I was deeply pleased, and I spoke truly. It had been a very productive journey, and I had enjoyed the company of my princess, but I looked forward to seeing my concubines pleasure one another.

* * *

Normally, I had my officials hear petitions of citizens; on occasion they referred these to me. Reznak mo Reznak, a former Master now serving Skahaz as a clerk and sometime magistrate, flagged a brothel owner for my attention. Soon after my latest return to Meereen I invited the woman, a rather short and thin-faced Braavosi with stiff shoulders, iron-gray hair and a pronounced bosom clearly outlined under a tight white blouse, to join me in the rooftop garden and state her case.

“My Emperor,” she began, “My name is Lissana del Monte Rosso. I’m the administrator of the House of Steiner, in the tradition of The Founder, may her name be ever praised.”

“A brothel,” I said, wondering how The Founder’s name could be ever praised, if it were too holy to be ever spoken.

“We prefer the term, ‘physical release center,’ if you don’t mind. We offer far more than a simple brothel: energy-freeing massages, anointment with essential oils, music and dance from Eastern lands. We use natural means to optimize mental and physical health and well-being”

“And sex.” With, if her mental images of her colleagues were any indication, notably unattractive women and an awkward, balding man.

“We prefer the term, ‘movements.’ Our Movement Teachers seek to heal heads, hands and hearts.”

“And cocks.”

“We honor the inner child, bring out what is troubling our clients and give them a holistic healing experience.”

“Through sex.”

Lissana grew irritated, but caught herself before expressing this to her Emperor.

“It troubles me to bring you this news,” she changed the subject, “and I fear it will cause only trouble. Yet I have a duty to the women of my faculty. We convened a committee which named a special committee, and after a series of meetings I was authorized to bring this issue to your attention.”

“Faculty?”

“We are teachers,” she said. “Teaching a better way of life, through total respect for the body.”

“As you said,” I nodded. “By way of the cock.”

“We also teach women to appreciate their own bodies, through a partner or on their own.”

Lissana del Monte Rosso was a fanatic in her own way, though at least she wasn’t on the streets fomenting revolution or religious idiocy. I supposed that she did provide a service, diverting at least a few potential lunatics into relatively harmless self-pleasuring in the name of self-development. I decided that I had played with her long enough.

“It is impossible to lie to me, as you may have heard,” I said. “Tell me the truth, and no harm will come to you.”

She nodded, and plunged ahead. I noted that her bosom shifted very stiffly as she did so, as though it were a separate part of her body. I became intrigued.

“Tyrion Lannister,” she said. “He visits my house, abuses my faculty, refuses to pay at all, much less the premium for his disfigurement. He vomits on the floor and declares that he is under your protection and thereby invulnerable.”

“Abuses your faculty?”

She went on to describe a series of perversions that I am loathe to repeat here, some of which I would not have credited as physically possible, yet her thoughts made clear that she spoke the truth.

“I’ll deal with Lord Tyrion,” I said. “You’ll not see him again. Now, you came a very long way. I’d see you properly compensated for your time.”

“That’s quite all right,” she said, her hands fluttering slightly. “I should be going. Your time is far more valuable than mine.”

She was not an attractive woman, nor did her nervous, bird-like demeanor appeal to me. But her total belief that these “movements” led to sexual ecstasy intrigued me, and I wished to see and feel her unusual bosom. She would have to meet my desires. After all, I was the Emperor and she no more than a smug, self-satisfied whore.

“You can imagine the pressure an Emperor feels at all times,” I said. “I should like to experience this energy-freeing massage, and physical release. To properly understand your complaint, I need to fully understand your services.”

I felt the shift in her thoughts; if she pleased me, perhaps she could secure funding for her operation. Apparently, family members and friends of favored “faculty” weren’t charged for services, nor were those they hoped to recruit to their unusual philosophy. That led to a substantial financial deficit, making the House of Steiner likely this world’s only money-losing whorehouse.

“I’m not properly authorized,” she said. “We would need to hold another committee meeting and conduct a vote.”

“I’m your Emperor,” I said. “I answer to no committee, and no votes.”

“Very well,” she said. “I always carry some essential oils with me.”

I pulled off my tunic and approached her.

“What do you need me to do?”

* * *

As I had promised, I paid Lissana del Monte Rosso well for her services, though in truth I felt no special effect from her oils. The massage to my shoulders, arms and lower back had been welcome. Once disrobed her bosom proved to be much less bountiful than I had imagined; I had been misled by cleverly-constructed padding that mimicked a full and generous female form. She insisted on arousing me with her tongue, and I finished on her scrawny, disappointing breasts while she raised her hands and chanted “kwaheri,” which I understood to be some strange benediction to her goddess known as The Founder. Even though I did not enter her or provide any other stimulation, invoking The Founder brought her to the climax of female ecstasy, in her case a series of red-faced gasps, and she seemed surprised that the mantra had no similar effect upon me.

My needs had not been met, but at least my curiosity had been sated. I knew that I would not be visiting the House of Steiner, nor calling on the services of its plain-faced and small-bosomed “faculty.” Lissana had done me a far more useful service in telling me of the misdeeds committed by my princess’ wayward advisor. I summoned Calye to relieve the remaining pressure, taking her on the same couch where Lissana had praised The Founder. She did so happily, and offered no songs to self-appointed godlings. I allowed her to depart before asking the Hyrkoon guards to bring Tyrion Lannister to my garden; the very sight of him repulsed her.

“Lord Tyrion,” I greeted him. As ordered, he wore a veil over his face to hide his hideous wound. “I understand that you’ve fully embraced the social life of Meereen.”

“My Emperor?”

“You brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel. What you commanded the whores, or should I say the faculty, to do with them shocks even me.”

“It was not a brothel,” he argued, “but rather a physical release . . .”

“Do not mince words with your Emperor,” I cut him off. “It’s impossible to lie to me, so don’t insult me by trying.”

“My Emperor, I . . .”

“Be silent. You’ve brought shame to my rule, and sullied the name of my princess. I’ve kept you about for your amusement value, but I wonder if I should not have you tossed from the top of this pyramid.”

He considered telling me the truth: that while drunk he had remembered a joke he had once told involving a jackass and a honeycomb, and that had led him to ponder what he might force a whore to do with these things. He decided, correctly, that this would only anger me and went for mercy instead.

“My Emperor, I have no excuse. My life is yours. Toss me as you will.”

Tyrion Lannister could not have weighed more than 80 pounds. I imagined that, were I to throw him with my great strength, he might clear the base of the pyramid and smash onto the flagstones of the central plaza like an overripe melon. It would be no more than he deserved, but such an end for the pretentious drunkard would upset my princess. And that I could abide even less than the disgusting little man who stood before me.

“You are confined to the Great Pyramid,” I said. “You are forbidden all strong drink, and forbidden to summon whores for your entertainment or any other purpose. Disobey me and you’ll be riding a very small pole. Get out of my sight.”

He waddled away, thinking that he would have preferred to be sent flying off the top of the pyramid. Had I only known what events would follow, how his witless advice would lead my beloved princess to her encounter with the murderous harlot Dejah Thoris, I would have drop-kicked him over the edge without hesitation. In my long life I’ve had, and I’ve forgotten, many regrets. I’ll never forget the mistake I made in allowing Tyrion Lannister to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter resumes his march of conquest.


	76. Chapter Fifty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris dispenses justice.

Chapter Fifty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

I had emerged from the egg a princess, but on Bear Island my role was that of younger daughter of House Mormont. I had privilege, though not nearly as great as that I had enjoyed in Helium, and I had responsibilities, much more than I had once known. I had come to appreciate this exchange. At times Maege or Tansy asked my opinion on an issue, and I gladly gave it, but rarely did I offer unsolicited advice.

Jeyne gave me work assignments, often together with Beth, and I performed them. I did not always enjoy the work itself, but after centuries of royal privilege it pleased me to feel useful. As titular commander of the House Guard I had been assigned an office on the top floor of the largest barracks, which I used to begin writing a series of scientific papers. I had looted a great deal of wood-based paper from Castle Black, something rarely found on Bear Island, along with writing instruments made from the feathers of birds. I wrote in my own language, knowing that no one here could read it, but the act of writing down my thoughts helped clarify them and assured that I would recall them later.

As First Meal ended a few days after Rolston’s imprisonment, Jeyne came and sat next to me as she often did to describe a work assignment.

“One of the nannies who keeps the children is ill,” she said. “Do you think you could take her place today?”

“I have never kept children,” I said. “I think I fear them, slightly.”

“They’re a lot harder to damage than you’d think,” Jory said from across the table. “I’ll help you.”

Jeyne nodded, and wrote our names on her list.

“You’ll have them until their parents finish their own work,” she said. “It makes for a long day.”

She did not exaggerate. My day with the children was the longest I had yet experienced, yet I would not have traded it for almost any other day I spent on the island.

The women in charge of children did not trust us with the infants, even though we did not carry our swords and wore our simple brown dresses. Instead they assigned us the small children, aged two to seven years, what was called the “children’s garden.” The older children had lessons with the maester. With their teacher having “taken ill,” on this day Tycho Nestoris worked on simple mathematics with them.

The children’s garden had a low wall around it, with an actual garden inside as well as large outdoor wooden toys for play, a small storage cabinet for other toys, and an open-sided roofed area to one side for days when rain fell. One by one, children arrived with their parents, and we introduced ourselves as we’d been directed, as “Miss Dejah” and “Miss Jory.” The children already knew Jory. By the time the last had arrived we had a collection of 22 children, including my adoptive nephew Jeor.

We allowed the children to amuse themselves for a while, chasing those who tried to climb over the wall and capturing those who tried to fling themselves to the ground off tables and other structures. Once they had expended some of their energy – and they had a great deal of energy – we gathered them in a circle to tell them stories.

Jory and I took turns. Jory told them a story about a princess with flowers in her hair; I picked up a smattering of her thoughts that showed she had given the story a happier outcome than that of the original version. I told them of my sister Thuvia, who could control the savage banths of Barsoom, though I called them “lions” in my telling. The children liked Jory’s story better than mine.

“Are you really a princess?” a little girl asked when I finished my story.

“I am a princess,” I said. “A princess from far away.”

“You don’t have a crown. Why don’t you have a crown?”

“I never had one.”

“And your skin is red. Why is it red?”

“Do not mock my skin tone,” I said. The child leapt to her feet and ran away crying. Jory pursued and swept the child into her arms.

“Miss Dejah was just playing let’s pretend,” she told the little girl. “She’s pretending to be a big . . . bad . . . wolf. And she’s going to eat you!”

Jory thought very intensely that we needed to chase the children now, and so we did. They squealed in delight and ran about in uncoordinated fashion.

The day went on for a very long time; we gave the children a snack, and Mid-Day Meal, and another snack. We took them to the privy. We laid them down for a nap. We played more chasing games, we told more stories, and we played with toys – we crafted stories about the adventures of the small carved wooden animals, and built towers and castles from wooden blocks.

On Barsoom, we have little notion of “play.” I needed Jory’s help, but slowly began to grasp the concept with the help of telepathy. I knew how to tell stories, and once I realized that play simply meant telling a story but acting it out either in person or with toys, I came to enjoy it very much. Together with the children we created a story about the toy animals who lived in the forest and were friends. The children loved the story of these “forest friends,” who helped one another and were kind.

Jory oversaw the return of the children to their parents, who finally arrived at dusk to collect them. While she handed them over, I sprawled on the wooden table where we had had our snacks and dozed.

“They broke you,” she said, smiling as she sat on the table next to my head.

“Yes,” I said. “I surrender. I have been defeated by hatchlings.”

“Well, don’t worry. Tomorrow we’ll be back to sawing logs or mortaring stones together.”

“I wish to come back,” I said. “And visit the gentle world of the forest friends again. Just not right away.” 

* * *

I continued the habit I had begun during my first visit to Winterfell, visiting the white tree the northern people worshipped when Lyra did so. I knelt next to her and meditated while she prayed; this tree looked very similar to that of Winterfell but tolerated my presence far better than had the Stark tree.

While I still rejected the notion of mystical beings hovering over the universe directing the actions of people, I loved Lyra and respected her faith. And I did feel very much at peace in front of the tree, and also felt very close to Lyra.

I could not truly say that the Northern people had a religion, for they had no priests, no real doctrine of their faith, no holy writings of which I was aware and no places of worship other than the tiny forests dedicated to the white trees. Unexpectedly, this non-religion had given me comfort where I least expected to find it.

I often visited the small mountain lake with various combinations of my sisters, and I also hunted alone with Lyra. She continued my archery lessons, but I still preferred the javelin for hunting deer and their larger relatives known as the “elk.” The word “elk” applied to two different animals, which seemed confusing, though I enjoyed eating both of them.

Lyra insisted that I not track our prey telepathically, as that took the challenge out of the hunt. I found it difficult to comply at first, but slowly learned how she took pride and satisfaction from listening, looking and smelling. I did my best to emulate her.

“Isn’t it more fun this way?” she asked after I had brought down an elk at very close range. “A challenge?”

“Yes,” I grudgingly allowed. “But I would enjoy walking through the forest with you anyway.”

We knelt by the elk and began to dress it, as the Brotherhood hunters had taught me soon after my arrival on this planet. She stopped and looked at me; I was not trying to read her thoughts but I could tell she wished to say something very serious.

“You’ve meant a great deal to me, Dejah. Hearing that Dacey had been killed shattered me. I love my family, but none of the others are like me, not the way Dacey was.”

“I am not like you either.”

“I know,” she said. “When the Reed men brought a dark-haired woman into Greywater Watch on a stretcher, I was sure it was Dacey. I ran to see, but it wasn’t.

“As soon as my disappointment faded, even while you still slept, I wanted to be your friend. I daydreamed about somehow becoming your sister. I just wanted you to know.”

“Are you going to die soon?”

“What?” she asked, startled. “No. I just . . . you know. You and Tansy. I wanted you to know that I love you, too, even if we don’t . . .”

I settled back onto my ankles, surprised at this turn of conversation.

“You are insecure because I had sex with Tansy?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Well, yes. But I love Tansy too.”

“I have never seen you so flustered.”

“Me either.”

“Lyra,” I said. “You do not have to have sex with me to be my sister. I love you as fiercely as ever.”

“I would if you wanted me to.”

Rarely had I received an offer – for anything, not merely sex – that tempted me as greatly. I desperately wished to kiss her at that moment, to say yes. But I knew better.

“You are beautiful, and I find you very desirable.”

“I know.”

“But you do not truly wish to, do you?”

“No,” she said softly. “It’s not my way.”

“Do not worry over this,” I said. “I love you without condition.”

“And I you,” she said, leaning over to swiftly kiss my lips, blushing as she returned to slicing up the dead elk. 

* * *

My office had a small bedchamber attached to it, which had not been used in some time. Trisha cleaned it and moved her belongings in without asking me, and quietly took up her duties as my steward. She knew them far better than I, having seen previous stewards at work, which relieved me of having to discuss them with her.

I had discussed the new arrangements with Ronis, Marsden and Beth on the evening of Trisha’s demotion, as the four of us walked the walls to familiarize Beth with her new watch-keeping duties.

“It’s a hard thing,” Ronis allowed. “I can’t say as I blame her, with what happened to her sister and all, but discipline comes first. I wouldn’t have thought her one to break it so easily.”

“That is likely my fault,” I said. “I did not keep a firm enough boundary between friendship and duty. I will not repeat this error.”

“You didn’t kick the shit out of Rolston, either,” he said. “Fault only goes so far. She knew better, and knew better than to involve two soldiers in it.”

“Good of Lady Beth to volunteer,” Marsden said, surprising me with the outburst but he had strong feelings on the matter. “Keeps the post open for Trish to return, if that’s your will.”

He hoped it would be, as did I, but I did not yet know what I would do when her penance was completed.

“That’s why I did it,” Beth said. “Before Lady Mormont ordered Dejah, the Princess, to fill it with someone else. Will the Guard accept me?”

“They respect anyone who can knock all of their asses into the dirt,” Ronis said. “But as a fighting Lady of the House you’re already an officer, you just haven’t had the same duties or experience. Listen to the Princess and you’ll be fine. Ask me anything you need to. You can ask Marsden, but he won’t answer.”

“Not true,” Marsden said.

“I’ll give one bit of advice, if I might,” Ronis continued. Beth nodded. “You can’t shy away from any of them. Including the men. Look them in the eye and tell them what you want, firmly and directly. If they think you’re afraid of them, they’ll never follow you in battle.”

“I . . . it’s hard.”

“I know,” he said. “And I can guess why. We’re not those men. We’re the men who’ll fight and die by your side, wearing these colors.”

Beth simply nodded. Ronis breathed deeply, and pressed on.

“You’ve heard the Princess issue orders. Always polite, always with ‘please.’ What she’s really saying is that she’s totally confident she’ll be obeyed. She’s my commander because Lady Mormont said she is. But she’s also the commander I’d choose. You could have a worse model.”

* * *

I assigned Trisha, Trevan and Jarack to the worst duty that the Keep offered, shoveling out the cesspit. Trisha gave no complaint over her new station, and soon had my office well-organized and the Guard’s paperwork up to date. She immediately noticed that I had done nothing in this regard, and thought me pre-occupied and somewhat irresponsible. She brought me coffee each afternoon and tended to my weapons. But we spoke very rarely, and always in very short sentences. She remained deeply embarrassed over her loss of rank, and mortified that she had disappointed me.

Finally, on the fourth day of her assignment, she took a seat across from me when I sat at my desk to look at the day’s reports. Since I could not read them, I only did so to make sure that they existed. They could have contained hatchlings’ rhymes and I would have been none the wiser.

“Princess,” she began, her girlish voice now somewhat husky with emotion. “I have to apologize. You showed trust in me, belief in me, and I let you down.”

“You did,” I said. “You have not lost my friendship, and you will regain my trust. My sister Tansy has agreed that the steward shall receive the same pay as the officers.”

“Thank you, Princess. That’s more than I deserve.”

I almost told her to call me Dejah, but caught myself.

“When some time has passed, I will speak with Tansy and establish the house of coffee, as we discussed.”

“You don’t have to do that. I definitely don’t deserve it.”

“Your sister was not present in that hallway. I will not punish her as well.”

And were I honest with myself, I had committed worse acts. Much worse.

“Will I still fight?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’ll train as usual, as an individual fighter rather than an officer, but without a place in the shield wall. Should it come to battle your place is beside me.”

She nodded slowly, somewhat mollified. I stood, as did Trisha, and I put my hands on her shoulders.

“I need a steward I can trust,” I said. “I cannot read your people’s writing.”

“I’ll give you no cause for complaint.”

“All will be well,” I said. “There are difficult times for every hero of every story.”

* * *

A few days afterwards, I worked with Lyra at the archery range, loosing arrows at the targets known as “butts.” I still enjoyed her hands on my waist as she adjusted my stance. I had become much better at hitting the targets. I could not yet match the speed of the young archer I had captured soon after my arrival on this planet, but the act of taking an arrow from its quiver and fitting the indentation on its end, known as a “nock,” over the bowstring, an action known as “nocking,” had become very fluid.

“There are actually,” Lyra told me, “ignorant fools who call it ‘notching.’ Should you meet any, shoot them with arrows.”

“I shall do so.”

“No, don’t really shoot them. I was jesting.”

“This world’s breeding pool would be improved, would it not?”

She sighed.

“I must remember not to encourage you to kill people.”

Jory arrived before I could answer, smiling and almost out of breath.

“Mother gave permission,” she said. “We can take Dejah on a tour around the island.”

“I know nothing of this,” I said.

“Jory has been hoping,” Lyra explained, “to ride with you all around the island so you can visit the minor holdfasts and the families who hold them in our name, see the farms and the sheepfolds and forests. Waterfalls and hot springs and more besides.”

“I want to see this,” I said. “And I want you to come with us.”

“What of Tansy and Beth?”

“Them as well,” I said. “We will adventure again, together.”

That wish did not come to pass.

“Maege wants us to split up the visits,” Tansy said. “You three will take the coastal road. Aly, Beth and I will take the highland road.

I did not like separating from Tansy. That must have been evident on my usually-unreadable face.

“You don’t want to leave her,” Beth said. “I’ll be with her. You can trust me.”

“I know that I can,” I said. “I become anxious separating from any of you.”

“I know what Tansy means to you. She’ll be safe with me. I promise.”

Tansy smiled at me, so I nodded.

“You know,” she said, “that this is a working trip, right?”

“I did not,” I answered. “What must I do?”

“You know that we direct the affairs of Bear Island from here, the Keep.”

“Yes.”

“We only directly rule the area nearby, perhaps three or four days’ ride away. For the rest, lesser noble houses rule in our name.”

“So we are to visit them?”

“Yes. They’ll present accounts, and you’ll check them and accept them. I’ll go over that part with Lyra. You’ll explain the new pension system for warriors’ families, and deliver the first payment – they should have the names ready as part of their accounting. And you’ll dispense justice – hear disputes, sentence criminals, that sort of thing. You should be involved in that yourself.”

“I am but ninth in line.”

“But you’re a daughter of House Mormont,” Tansy said, “and you’ll be acting in Maege’s name.”

We all sat around a table in the Keep’s main hall, where no one else could overhear us. I leaned in close all the same.

“I am not sure that I wish to exercise power. I will lead the troops in battle, but this is a much different step.”

“It’s part of our role here,” Tansy said. “We’re daughters of House Mormont, and sometimes we have to act the part in public. Lyra will be there, you just have to support her. And Jory will be there, and perhaps you should take Trisha as well. It might be best that she not remain here with you away, and she can help with the paperwork. You’ll have fun, when you aren’t judging.”

I nodded, but remained unhappy. I did not mind doing physical labor, or training troops, or wielding my sword for my new house. Exercising political power, even on such a minor scale, made me uncomfortable. Perhaps it was a reminder that I was no longer a princess, no longer second in line to inherit the most powerful position on an entire planet. 

* * *

We rode out the following morning, and Jory’s happiness quickly drove away my misgivings. Since Beth travelled with Tansy and Aly, we could take along Jory’s favorite dog, named Ralf. Ralf was a large dog with shaggy orange-and-brown fur and a long snout. Her thoughts showed her more intelligent than other dogs, but she had the strange habit of looking at a person and making a long series of mumbling sounds, believing these to be human speech.

The coastal road had been covered in gravel near the Keep, but after a few hours it gave way to a simple dirt track. Here on the south coast of the island the farms grew a grain known as rye and many pastures sheltered sheep; on the north coast, Jory told me, we would see potatoes, buckwheat and still more sheep. We spent our first several nights in well-kept inns; this territory reported directly to Mormont Keep and while the innkeepers and locals greeted us warmly, we did not dispense justice or study accounts. Perhaps this explained their friendly welcome.

Soon we entered the territory overseen by the first holdfast we would visit, though I could see little difference in the countryside around us or in the people we met on the road. Lyra explained while Jory spoke with a pair of women pushing a small cart.

“On the mainland, the local leaders would be called lords,” she said. “On the island, they’re called chieftains, the same as the mountain clans north of Winterfell. If any of them survived the Others. House Mormont was once a mountain clan, before we came to the island, and some of the old ways survive here.

“We’ll visit, enjoy their hospitality, and make sure no one’s stealing too horribly. The chieftain will have taken care of most justice, and the really serious cases will go to Mother. Our role is to handle the ones that fall in between.”

“They are friendly?” I asked.

“Very. House Mormont is popular, or was before the wars took so many. There may be some resentment at the cost in blood and treasure. We also get to announce the pensions you convinced Mother to grant, so we should be popular again. There will be dancing, and feasting, and men will offer themselves.”

“You will take a man inside you?” I wanted her to be happy, but I felt a pang of jealousy even though I had turned down her unenthusiastic offer of sex.

“No,” she said, taking the question seriously. “Women on Bear Island choose who to take into their beds, but that doesn’t apply to us. You don’t fuck those you might have to command. I’d think you have some sort of decree like that in your own city.”

We did. Even though we lacked the obsessions regarding sex shown by these people, one did not form romantic bonds within one’s chain of command.

“Yes,” I said. “But I have learned not to apply our ways to these lands.”

“These are your lands now,” she said. “For as long as you stay.”

I looked at her; she suddenly seemed strained.

“I am not leaving,” I said. “I will stay with you, and our sisters, for as long as you live.”

“You’re older than I,” she said, smiling in hopes of driving out her worries.

“And will live to be older still, unless a sword finds my heart.”

“I don’t want to be separated from you.”

“Nor I from you,” I said. “It is not like you to have such worries.”

“Not usually, no. That night in Winterfell, thinking about my future, about a child, it changed things.”

“Change is the only constant,” I once again repeated the wisdom of Helium’s greatest philosopher, the Venerable Uhnkt. “But do not doubt my love for you.”

“I don’t,” she said. “It just made me think about the future. And that’s always frightening.” 

* * *

Our first visit came at a “holdfast,” in this case a very fine home built of logs where the local chieftain lived with his family, located within a log palisade. A feasting hall similarly built of logs lay alongside the home. The area enclosed within the palisade included stables, barracks – both of these now empty – a small armory and the entrances to shafts driven into the rocky hillside, within which winter food supplies were stored.

The clan chieftain, named Eleck Gilfillian, met us at the gate with his wife and three children. He was an older man, quite fat with white hair sprouting from his head at odd angles. The five of them bowed but did not kneel as we dismounted.

“Lady Lyra!” the chieftain greeted my sister. “It’s good to have you back on the island. Lady Jorelle as well, with Trisha of the Guard. And this would be the princess we’ve heard so much about?”

“Dejah Thoris,” I said. “Formerly princess of Helium, now adoptive daughter of House Mormont.”

I spoke without thinking; I had never before called myself a “former” princess. Had I spoken thus for Lyra’s benefit, or for my own? I could not dwell on this for long, as Gilfillian named his wife and children. I quickly forgot their names.

“We knew you’d come soon,” he said, “but not the exact day. We’ll have a right feast on the morrow, and present accounts. We have just three cases for judging.”

After we bathed, we joined the chieftain’s family for Evening Meal: sheep meat, which is known as “mutton,” with roasted potatoes and a garnish of smashed berries. They also served ale. I liked it all very much and ate until the chieftain’s thoughts showed alarm.

“Legend says,” the chieftain said to me, rather cautiously, “that you slew the Night’s King.”

“It is true,” I said. “I fought him in single combat at the foot of the Wall”

“But you’re a princess,” his wife said, then regretted speaking.

“I am,” I said. “Or I was. Now I am a daughter of House Mormont. As a princess I was trained to fight, and now I carry my sword for my house and its people.”

They both nodded, unsure how I should be classified.

“Dejah is my sister,” Lyra added. “Just like Jory. And she commands the House Guard. I’m sure you’ll come to see what she’s meant to our House already. She retrieved Longclaw, and I wield it now.”

That made an impression.

“Do you prefer to be called Princess,” Gilfillian asked, “or Lady Dejah?”

“Whichever you like,” I said. “Either will attract my attention.”

“Never met a princess before. Think I’ll use that one, by your leave.” 

* * *

The chieftain offered us his own bed, but we slept instead in one of the chambers being prepared for winter use. After First Meal, the chieftain’s two servants readied the great hall for what were called petitions; he had sent messengers to summon those wishing to bring their concerns to the Mormont family.

The first case brought to us involved missing sheep; the chieftain had not known who to believe and feared that the dispute would end in someone’s death. Apparently one herder had become drunk and lost track of some sheep, and believed another had taken them. The other had not taken them, but some extra sheep had appeared in his flock and he did not wish to give them up.

“You did not see this man take your sheep?” I asked the drunken shepherd, who was not drunk at the moment.

“No, milady. It must have happened in the dead of night.”

“Do you not have a dog to warn of such things?”

“Yes, milady. The dog did not bark.”

At the word “dog,” Ralf stood up from where she lay curled at Jory’s feet and stared at the man. He became even more nervous, but said nothing. Ralf was aware that a dog had been blamed for a bad thing, and did not approve.

“And you,” I asked the other shepherd. “You know nothing of these sheep?”

“No, milady.”

“I am a daughter of House Mormont,” I said, and turned to the chieftain. “What is the penalty for lying to a daughter of House Mormont?”

“First offense,” he said, “out with his tongue. Second offense, off with his head.”

“Have you perhaps remembered any additional facts?” I asked the shepherd.

“It’s possible,” he said, “that some wandering sheep might have become attached to my flock.”

“Those are my sheep!” said the drunkard. “Give them back!”

“Are you not charged with watching them?” I asked.

“I . . . yes, milady.”

“How many extra sheep have appeared?”

“Seven, milady.”

“How many disappeared?”

“Eight, milady,” the other shepherd said.

“Return three to this man,” I said. “Keep three for your flock. Bring one to the chieftain to replace the sheep we ate last night.”

“But milady . . .” the drunkard began.

“And if this shepherd is drunk again while on duty, he is to have ten sheep taken.”

“Thank you, milady,” the chieftain said. He turned to the shepherds. “You heard the lady.”

“You’re a natural at this,” Lyra said as they left and a man and a woman took their places. “Almost as if you’ve done it before.”

“I have.”

“So I surmised.”

Next we heard a case of a brother and sister arguing over care of their elderly, demented mother. We have no elderly on Barsoom – at the age of 1,000 we were until very recently expected to take a final journey down the River Iss into the afterlife. My husband John Carter exposed this as a massive fraud, but our science is still unsure of our natural lifespan. It will be some unknown number of years before we have an elderly population for which we must care.

In this case, the son provided small quantities of a few special, supposedly healthy foods and claimed this was enough for his part, and that he remained entitled to the old woman’s entire estate. The daughter claimed that she performed all work for their mother – feeding her, bathing her, tending her elderly and addled house pets – and wished some compensation from her brother. We heard them both, and I asked them to step outside while we conferred.

“They both speak the truth,” I said when they had left the hall.

“Neither one contradicts the other,” Jory said. “So what’s the ruling?”

“The brother,” I said, “is a disgusting form of lower vermin. He should be killed.”

“Selfish and cowardly as he is,” Lyra said, “we can’t sentence him to death for it.”

“A pity,” offered the chieftain. “It’s a right terrible case, but tradition says a daughter cares for the old, a son inherits the property.”

“Even on Bear Island?” I asked. “That does not seem right.”

The chieftain made a humming sound.

“Tradition,” he said tentatively, “also says man and woman are equal here.”

He wanted us to rule against the brother, who he found despicable and weak.

“Then we shall follow tradition,” I said. “You will determine the value of her labor, and see that he pays her for half of it. If he cannot pay, seize his property. If he lacks sufficient property, force him to work for her.”

“I like it,” Lyra said as Jory nodded. “Lord Gilfillian?”

“Agreed,” he said. “And easily done. And the old woman’s property?”

“Divided between the children at her death,” Lyra said. “Just like the labor.”

The chieftain nodded.

“Clash of traditions resolved,” he said. “That’s why I saved this one for you.”

Our third case involved a man who had impersonated his neighbor and made love to his neighbor’s wife late at night. Apparently all three had been well aware of everyone’s identity, and the husband had indeed watched from a hidden spot, but then felt shame afterwards and struck back against the other two.

Lyra offered a resolution ending the marriage; if the woman could be fooled by a different man then she could not have truly entered into marriage and therefore it was void. Since the island had no divorce, we judges had to rule that the marriage had never existed. This was nonsense, and all present knew it for nonsense, but it freed the husband from a loveless marriage and allowed the woman to marry the man she had wanted all along.

Again, my sisters and the chieftain agreed; the chieftain was relieved to have averted a blood feud. All left satisfied.

We feasted that night, on roasted sheep and a great deal of ale along with a harsh-tasting drink called “spruce beer” that supposedly offered health benefits. The chieftain had not been pleased to meet me and considered me an odd foreigner; my rulings had relieved him of two awkward situations and now he admired me greatly.

“Did I overstep my place?” I asked Lyra during a lull in the horrific flute and drum music played by three drunken men while we ate and drank.

“Of course not,” she said. “I’d have spoken up if I disagreed. And did you hear me speak up?”

“I did not.”

“You were just. You really have done this before?”

“In my lands, we have professionals who usually rule on legal cases. My father, Mors Kajak, is one of the best-known interpreters of the law and I studied with him. Even though our laws and yours have many differences, the basic duty – to see that all are treated fairly – remains the same. Or at least it should; this is not always true in our lands and the law does not apply to royals as it does to commoners. It also helps to read others’ thoughts.”

“No doubt,” she said. “And I agree about treating all fairly. There shouldn’t be one law for one class, and another law for another. Not every lord feels this way.”

“Does Maege?”

“Very much so. We must have justice for all on Bear Island, else our rule here is false.”

“I am proud to be a Mormont.” And I was, though I felt shame that such principles did not apply in Helium.

“As am I. Was dispensing justice as troubling as you thought it would be?”

“No,” I said. “I even enjoyed parts of it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris becomes a surrogate mother.


	77. Chapter Fifty-Five (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris makes a confession.

Chapter Fifty-Five (Dejah Thoris)

We visited several more smallholdings, meeting the chieftains and dispensing justice. Lyra and Trisha handled the acceptance of accounts and disbursement of pension funds, and I continued to use telepathy to resolve legal disputes. I could not read the account books and so paid little attention, but the extreme nervousness of the chieftain presenting them at the fourth such ceremony caught my attention. I asked to see the accounts, and Trisha, surprised, handed them to me.

I made sure that I kept them right-side-up, and pretended to scan down the columns of numbers while actually scanning the chieftain’s thoughts. Finally, he gave me what I wanted: he had falsified the number of sheep slaughtered over the past year, selling many to passing merchant ships and fishing boats without paying House Mormont its share. Lyra had been clear that we could let petty larceny alone, but this seemed major.

“It seems,” I said, “that there is an error in the accounting for slaughtered sheep.”

“Er . . . error, milady?”

“Yes, an error. Perhaps you should check your figures and submit them again.”

He tentatively approached to take the sheets of animal skin with the figures on them. I stared into his eyes.

“Yes,” I said. “Submit the figures again. Correctly.”

“I, well, what is the problem?”

I did not answer, and continued to stare. He grew more nervous, and finally snatched the sheets.

“I’ll fix them, I will,” he said, and then he bolted out of the room.

“That was cruel,” Lyra said, but she smiled.

“You would prefer that we punished him for theft?”

“No. Better that he worry how much we know. What do we know?”

“That he did not report the sale of 48 slaughtered sheep.” 

* * *

A few days after my correction of the would-be embezzler, Jory said it was time to see one of the island’s natural wonders. We turned off the coastal road onto a track that led us up into the hills. I could feel no human thoughts nearby, so I kept a special watch for bears. Ralf the dog did not seem worried, bounding between the trees in search of small animals to kill. Ralf enjoyed killing things.

A short while later, the trees ended and I stood with Trisha, my sisters and Ralf at the edge of a steep cliff. A large stream or small river plunged over a rocky edge to our left, to thunder down through the air amid enormous clouds of white mist. Far below it rejoined the riverbed and continued to the sea.

We have nothing like this on Barsoom; there are a small number of rivers on my planet, but I had never seen one crash over a cliff. It is a far more arid planet than this, and the lighter gravity would bring the water downward with less force in any event. I found the sight both terrifying and beautiful; the noise and the view made my knees weak, yet I could not look away. Involuntarily, I put my arm around Lyra’s waist to steady myself. She leaned against me; we could not be heard over the roar of the water but I felt very close to my adoptive sister even without speaking. I had nothing to say even when we returned to the forest and could hear one another again.

At our next stop, after hearing two cases and accepting the account books Jory had yet another new experience to share. We rode into the hills a short distance behind the chieftain’s holdfast – in this case a woman, though she still went by the title “chieftain” – to a small home held by a family known as a “crofters.”

A croft turned out to be a very small farm where food was grown – potatoes for the most part, with some other vegetables as well. These helped feed the family, but their primary occupation was spinning sheep’s wool into thread and making that wool into cloth.

“A jobber comes by once a sennight or so,” the crofter explained to me. “Picks up the cloth, drops off more wool, pays the difference.”

He took us to a small building attached to the back of his farmhouse, where his wife worked a spinning wheel and an older child worked a device he named a “loom” that turned the thread into cloth. It seemed a complex machine, with a small object running back and forth to weave the threads, powered by the weaver pressing on pedals with his or her feet, and I declined an offer to try it myself lest my enhanced strength damage it.

“Does it give you an adequate living?” I asked as we stepped back outside. He hesitated and looked at Lyra.

“It’s alright,” she said. “Whatever’s said here, remains here.”

“No,” he answered firmly. “The prices we can get are low, and we have to make more just to keep up, so we work every day into the night. My oldest, he took up the sword and never came back from the wars. I miss him, I do, but we miss his hands, too.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” I said. “House Mormont will pay a pension to the families of fallen soldiers. You should receive yours any day now.”

“That will help, it surely will, and I thank you.”

“Are you paid fairly for your work?” I asked.

“Far as I can tell, prices are low everywhere and the jobber” – the man facilitating the work, buying and selling materials and finished goods – “he’s not getting rich, neither.”

We shared the food we had brought with the family, eating outside under the blue sky. Ralf the dog lay quietly next to Jory. The crofter provided some very fine cider he had made himself that I enjoyed greatly.

“I can promise you that House Mormont is working to improve conditions,” Lyra told the crofter as we left. “As my sister said, you should see pension payments very soon – we delivered the coin to your chieftain on our way here. And my other new sister is finding new markets in which to sell our woolens, and that should help things as well.”

“You’re good people,” the crofter said. “I marched with your mother against the Iron Born. I know we can trust you.”

“You can,” Lyra said. “Here we stand.”

* * *

We rode on, nearing Mormont Keep again. I had enjoyed meeting the crofter, a kind and decent man trying his best to provide for his family – which on this planet, meant keeping them alive. An idea tugged at the edges of my mind. I had seen something. But what?

The answer came to me suddenly, as I sat with Jory, Trisha and Lyra eating a smoked fish known as a salmon with fried potatoes in the home of a stout man and his red-faced wife, who made their living smoking and drying the catch of many fisher-folk. When we had finished, I went outside with Trisha to lie on the ground and watch the brilliant colors of the planet’s magnetic field dance across the Northern sky while Lyra and Jory helped clean the utensils and cooking gear. Ralf the dog lay alongside me, enjoying the warmth I generated.

Trisha had lain an arm’s length away, and I moved close enough that our arms touched. Ralf eased over as well to maintain contact with me.

“You are still,” I said, “ill at ease.”

“I am,” she agreed. “It helped, this trip. I can see that you’re not angry with me, not anymore. I’m still angry with myself.”

“I was never angry,” I said. “Only disappointed. I cannot say that I would not have done the same. Had it been Jory . . . I easily might have killed him. No, that I not true. I would most definitely have killed him. That does not make it the right thing to do.”

“It hurts me to have disappointed you. I feel so alone, so distant now.”

I rolled onto my side to look directly at her, and placed my hand on her face.

“You kissed me under the white god-tree,” I said. “And painted my breasts with red cow’s blood. You took my family name as your own, making me very proud. We are bonded for the remainder of our lives. You and I swore this under the moon.”

“I seem to remember that it was you kissing me.”

“You are my friend, and my sister-in-arms. And I am glad that you are my steward, even if it came about in an unpleasant manner.”

I felt Lyra and Jory approach, and rolled back to look upward. Each of my sisters took up a spot on either side of us, close enough to touch; Ralf moved to a spot next to Jory. Trisha was embarrassed to speak of her disgrace in front of them, so I changed the subject.

“I have some questions,” I said.

“You only have to ask,” Jory said. “Are they weighty?”

“A mundane subject,” I said. “All spinning and weaving here is done in a similar manner to what the crofter showed us?”

“As far as I know,” she said, “at least on Bear Island and in the North.”

“It provides a great part of what Bear Island has to sell?”

“Woolen goods, you mean?” Lyra answered. “I believe so. I know the island now produces more wool than it can turn into cloth. We lost a great many people in the war, and those hands aren’t here to work.”

“I believe I know a means by which more work could be done with fewer hands,” I said. “At least in terms of cloth production.”

“That would be a great boon to the island,” Jory said. “Would it change our way of life?”

“I do not wish to change the island, only to restore it. I will have to ask Gendry if he can build what we would need.”

* * *

The friendly fish-smokers allowed us to spend the night. They insisted that we sleep in their bed, but we would not displace them and curled up on their floor in front of their fireplace instead. We returned to Mormont Keep the next day and I sought Gendry after we had cared for the horses.

I found him, as usual, in his smithy. He had not yet started the fires in his forge, so I did not feel too bad about delaying his work.

“Are you familiar with the machines known as a ‘loom,’ used to weave cloth, and a ‘wheel,’ used to spin the thread that becomes cloth?”

“I’ve seen them, but never used one myself.”

“Could you build one?”

“I’ve repaired them,” he said, leaning against the cold forge to consider my question. “Fixed one just a few days ago, in fact. The wheel’s not overly complex. I’d have to study the loom. What do you have in mind?”

I explained how the people I had seen used human power for a repetitive motion to drive the wheel or the piece called a “shuttle.” Could he build a system powered by a wheel in turn driven by flowing water from the fast-moving streams that covered Bear Island?

“I could do that,” he said after I described my scheme. “I’d need to play with it some, make some drawings and maybe build it at a small scale, like a toy, and see if it worked.”

“That would greatly help me explain the idea to Lady Maege.”

This smithy did not have a high perch like that outside the Brotherhood’s cave complex; I found a spot atop the second, unused forge and crossed my legs beneath me.

“You can work with wood as well as iron?” I asked.

“Most blacksmiths do, even though we don’t like to admit it. You need to do so to form axe handles, and need to know how to build the doors and wagons and such that your iron fittings hold together, else they won’t work.”

“I understand.”

“Usually you partner up with a woodworker, though. I haven’t been here long enough for that, but I’m told that Bear Island is filled with very skilled carvers and carpenters.

“It would take a fair amount of iron. How much, I won’t know until I build one. And I don’t know how to protect the parts that would be stuck in the water from rot or rust.”

“There are mills driven by water, are there not?”

“You’re right. I’ve never been inside one. I should probably look at how they do it.”

I did not know if these people knew of waterproof paint. I hesitated to introduce too many pieces of new technology; I had no intention of re-making this world in the image of Barsoom.

“I like this idea,” Gendry continued. “If it works you’ve given Bear Island a huge gift. They’ve welcomed me and I’d like to see them prosper.”

“They have welcomed me as well,” I said, and rose to leave. “I would also like to help them, but not change them.”

He nodded.

“There’s one weakness I can see,” he said.

“What is that?”

“Your water-powered machine depends on the flow of water.” I nodded. “But water doesn’t flow consistently. It flows heavier at some times, less at others. Depends on rain and this far North, I’d guess on melting ice and snow.”

“That is a problem,” I agreed. “I will have to think on this.”

“Do you still want me to build the miniature machines?”

“Let me speak to my sister Jory about the streams.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll wait until you tell me what to do.”

He paused, and looked at me shyly.

“I have something to ask you, a favor, my princess.”

I took my place again.

“We are friends, Gendry. We fought together. You only need ask.”

He was nervous. My presence often made men nervous, but Gendry – uniquely among grown males I had encountered – intuitively understood that I was older than I appeared and saw me as a mother figure rather than a potential sex partner.

“You remember I told you I loved a girl.”

“I do.”

“I never forgot her, and I never stopped loving her. But when I went to her home to look for her, I found out that she’d died. I don’t know, she was highborn and I’m a bastard, or at least I was then. But I thought . . . anyway, it doesn’t matter, she died. I saw the crypt with her bones, underneath Winterfell.”

I saw the crypt in his mind, and the name carved upon it. I could not read their letters, but his thoughts made them clear to me.

“Arya Stark.”

“You knew?”

“That you loved her? No. But I knew Arya Stark, briefly. Gendry, she was a child, a little girl. She was much younger than you, and not physically or emotionally ready for sex. To lust for her, even as fantasy, is not appropriate by any standard.”

He blushed. With a reddish tint to his skin, he looked much like my son, Carthoris.

“I . . . I know. I was thinking that later, when she . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I was there when she died,” the words, once again, tumbled out of my mouth unbidden. “She died because of me, Gendry.”

“What happened?”

I stretched out my legs and looked down their length, as though I could find an answer at my feet. I saw only toes.

“Tansy and I found her in Maidenpool. She rode with us toward the North. She grew attached to Tansy, who resembles her mother. You knew that Tansy was her aunt?”

“No. Tansy looks like Lady Stark? Before Lady Stark died. Died the first time, I mean.”

“Apparently so. We came close to the swamp lands and I grew ill. Very ill. We stopped at a tavern because I needed food and rest, badly. I was careless. Frey soldiers were waiting nearby and came to seize us. I fought them, and killed almost all of them and their commander, Black Walder Frey. But Arya wanted to be a warrior like me, and when Black Walder stabbed me in the back she wriggled out of Tansy’s arms and tried to help me. A Frey soldier took her little sword from her and ran it through her heart. She died.”

“No one could ever stop Arya.”

“I should not have let her imitate me, Gendry. When I fight, people die. It is my fault. You may punch me if you like.”

“Punch you? Are you insane?”

“Possibly.”

“I’m angry, that’s no lie. I’m angry that she’s dead. At what I lost. At myself for feeling like I lost something that wasn’t mine to lose. But angry at you, Princess? Why? You didn’t kill her, and you couldn’t have stopped her. I knew Arya.”

I scanned for other thoughts; no one could hear us.

“I suppose I want you to be angry with me. It is my shame, Gendry. Tansy loved Arya like the daughter she never had. Can never have. I should have protected her. I know it seems strange to others, but I truly feel that Tansy is my sister. I love her, and I let her down. Tansy was deeply hurt and I can never, ever make that right. Arya Stark is dead and nothing I do could ever bring her back to life.”

I paused, breathed deeply and concentrated so that I did not cry.

“I may have been jealous of the attention Tansy paid to Arya. I am not sure. I fear that Tansy believes that I did not try as hard as I could to save Arya. I believe that I did, but doubt gnaws at me even so.”

Gendry sat next to me on the cold forge. He looked at the ground as well.

“I think I understand. I’m sorry. I’ve seen you fight, and I don’t believe you willingly let Arya die. But I can’t offer absolution. Only you can forgive yourself.”

“A philosopher as well as a blacksmith?”

“You knew that already. A lot of thoughts run through your mind while you’re pounding hot metal.”

“That is not my only crime.”

He looked at me expectantly; in his thoughts he considered that he loved me and would accept whatever I said.

“The soldiers sought me for the murder of Queen Cersei. They were right. The Freys would not have been seeking us at all had it not been for me.”

“You killed the queen?”

“She wanted to kill Tansy.”

“It’s not as though most folk wouldn’t cheer you for killing the queen.”

“One man did when Black Walder accused me of murdering Cersei.”

I could not bring myself to tell Gendry that Cersei might have been his mother. That I had possibly killed his mother. We sat silently for a few moments, and then he drew in a deep breath.

“Can I change the subject, and ask my favor?”

“Please do.”

“It’s about Jeyne.”

“Jeyne?”

“I would like to court her, and I would like your permission to do so. Her parents are dead and you’re our princess, so it seems like you’re the one I should ask.”

This took me by surprise. I thought for a moment, but I liked the idea. Jeyne Poole was an adult woman probably slightly older than Gendry and far more appropriate a choice than a child, like Arya Stark, though due to her psychological distress also somewhat vulnerable in her own way. I hoped that was not why he had focused on her.

“You do not really need permission. Jeyne is a grown woman and can make her own choices. And if you did, I am not the Lady of Bear Island; I am merely, if I calculate correctly, currently the eighth in line. Or possibly the ninth.”

“You’re also, well . . .” he hesitated, unsure how to proceed or if he had said too much.

“A mother figure to you?”

“Not really. Well, maybe. I look up to you.”

I smiled to cover my discomfort. I had done nothing to earn such trust, and I silently noted the evil irony of my taking the place of his mother after having murdered her with a spork.

“Thank you,” I said. “You remind me very much of my own son.”

“You? You have a son? You don’t seem old enough to have a grown son.”

He spoke out of courtesy; he had long believed me older than I appeared.

“I am, and I do. He looks very much like you, except for the copper tone to his skin.”

“Do you miss him?”

I did not; that is not the way of my people. I did not know how to say so without appearing a different sort of monster than was actually the case.

“I do,” I lied. “But I have found love and a home, and he has as well. He is married to my sister Thuvia.”

“Your sister is married to your son?”

“She is the sister of my heart, not one born of the same mother. Much as Tansy or Lyra.”

He nodded, relieved that his assumptions had been false.

“But I am glad that you asked my advice,” I said, moving the subject away from my family. I had mentioned neither Carthoris nor Thuvia to anyone else on this planet, not even Tansy. “That is what you are asking?”

“I suppose I am. You have some?”

“I would not have twisted your words to bring it up if I did not.”

He smiled.

“I am pleased that you are interested in a grown woman,” I said. “But Jeyne Poole has had terrible things done to her, Gendry. She was forced to become a whore. Then she was forced to pretend to be Arya Stark and marry a monster. She has been raped and tortured. She is a good woman and she is my friend, but she has demons within her still. And Beth Cassel will surely kill you if she thinks you have hurt Jeyne.”

“I’m not afraid of Beth.”

“You should be.” 

* * *

I would wait until I had spoken to Jory, and Gendry had built his model, before bringing the idea of a water-powered loom to Maege and my sisters. Should I share this technology, primitive though it was, with these people? My people? I revealed my dilemma to Jory and Tansy a few days later as we lay naked under the sun next to the small mountain lake, after they swam in the cold water while I splashed in the shallows. Ralf the dog patrolled the edge of the forest, looking for bears to fight and squirrels to murder.

“Do you think us stupid?” Tansy asked.

“What?”

“Not your sisters. All of us. The people of Westeros.”

“Some, most definitely. Others, most definitely not.”

“If I understand the engine you’re describing, it’s not a complicated change. Water pressure takes the place of the human foot driving the loom.”

“That is correct.”

“So if we’re not stupid people, why has no one thought of this before?”

“Because thinking of it’s not enough,” Jory said, rolling over to expose her very pale back to the sunshine. “For an idea to spread, someone has to _see_ it being used.”

“It’s a good idea,” Tansy said. “And pretty obvious. So why isn’t it used everywhere?”

“You’ve seen a loom?” Jory asked, raising her head to look at my sister. Tansy nodded.

“Dejah’s change isn’t complicated, but the loom itself isn’t simple. Someone has to build that, someone with experience and skill. That’s going to be expensive. And you might make back that cost when you sell the cloth, but where are you going to get the money to build the loom to start with?”

“All of the money is held by people who do not build looms,” I said, following her logic. “Noble houses and religious orders.”

“Exactly.”

Capital. John Carter had spat the word like a curse. And I understood his fury, that people could become wealthy without work, unearned privilege little different than that of a princess, except that these people pranced about pretending that it had been earned. We had had them in Helium, but apparently it had been far worse in his homeland of Virginia. My husband had hated those who prospered from investing money and held them responsible for his land’s civil war.

“We have plenty of money,” I said. “Buried under the Keep. And we have a banker.”

“So we should establish a bank?” Tansy asked.

“Perhaps,” I answered. “Or perhaps a trading company, to buy the woolen goods once they are produced and export them.”

“You’d need imports, too,” Jory added. “What’s the point of making money if there’s nothing to buy with it?”

“What sort of imports?” Tansy asked.

“On this island?” Jory asked. “Wine. Maybe some of the fripperies my cousin’s wife adored. But mostly wine.”

“You wish to make the people drunk?” I asked.

“We’ll import coffee, too, to sober them up.”

And here I saw my opportunity.

“Perhaps they should drink coffee instead,” I said. “In a house of coffee, much like a tavern, but open during the day. It is not wise to drink coffee before sleep.”

“You just suddenly thought of that?” Tansy smiled.

“I have thought of this for some time,” I said. “It would be a great addition to Mormont Port.”

“And who would be the coffee wench?” she asked. “You? Naked, of course.”

“That would bring in the crowds,” Jory said, which was not helpful.

“I thought perhaps Sandy could run the house of coffee. She can read and write and perform simple mathematics.”

“Trisha’s sister,” Tansy smiled. “So you’ve forgiven Trisha?”

“I was never angry with her,” I said. “Only disappointed.”

“She adores you,” Tansy said. “I’m glad you didn’t crush her.”

“You will approve the house of coffee?”

“Definitely,” Tansy said. “It’s a fine way to introduce some imported small luxuries of light weight and high value. Spices and sugar as well.”

“Sugar?” Jory asked.

“Sweeter than honey,” Tansy explained, “far easier to mix into baked goods or liquids. Many people will want to sweeten their coffee.”

This seemed an insane proposition to me; were there gods, they would drink their blessed coffee unadulterated by other substances.

“What is it?” Jory pressed. “This sugar?”

“The dried juice of a plant,” Tansy answered. “Comes in a cake of little white crystals. I’ve no idea where it’s from.”

“Will this make us different?” Jory asked. “If we don’t have to struggle to survive, will this still be Bear Island?”

“Many fail in that struggle,” I said. “We may not have fine gowns, but we of the Mormont family never go without food. The crofter we visited worried about keeping his children alive. No one should have such worries.”

“So we have to change,” Jory said.

“We have to keep what’s good,” Tansy said. “And change what’s not. That’s not going to be easy. It’s up to us, the ruling house, to set the example. To hold to the good in Mormont traditions.”

“Greed could destroy those traditions,” Jory said, her voice growing sad.

“As Tansy says,” I said, “it need not be that way. Too much wealth breeds evil. But so does too little. When most of the wealth is held by the very few, then the common people are damned to suffer the worst of both evils.” 

* * *

It took days for Alysane and Tansy to inspect all of Rolston’s documents; he had not tried to hide his contacts with the unknown person in King’s Landing but his general disorganization effectively did so. They uncovered two incoming messages that appeared to come from his manipulator.

One listed the works desired by the person, and promised in return a maester’s position in the Red Keep along with chambers and a regular cash salary. The other expressed some disappointment that not all books could be found, and clarified that the position involved assisting the author in a series of projects rather than attachment to the royal household.

Tansy had found the books in Rolston’s office, simply shelved alongside others. The titles had no meaning for me, nor did they bring any insights from my sisters, and I tried to sit patiently next to Rolston’s desk as Tansy read out passages from them. Many of them made little sense, and once again I was reminded of how heavily I relied on telepathy to understand their language. Tansy could only sound out the words, not give them meaning or context.

Only slowly did I begin the grasp the pattern among the books, and it remained very rough. All of them seemed to concern treatments to delay the onset of death, or else they contained tales of the Others, those not-dead creatures of the far North I had hopefully exterminated. As Regent of Helium’s Royal Academy of Science I had read numerous papers by the brilliant but deeply insane Ras Thavas regarding the creation of artificial life and the re-animation of the dead; my husband John Carter and his fellow Jasoomian, Ulysses Paxton, had encountered both the synthetic not-dead creatures and dead people restored to life. Considering the research behind his theories farcical and possibly fabricated, I had denied Ras Thavas permission to publish. His unquenchable hatred for me was one aspect of life on Barsoom I did not miss in my new home.

Did someone on this planet seek to replicate the work of Ras Thavas? That could not be allowed; these tomes would remain on Bear Island under strict custody.

Yet what of Rolston’s thoughts concerning his contact’s interest in my activities? My sisters could find no correspondence matching what I had read in his mind. The request surely happened, as he was unlikely to fantasize such a precise demand and would seemingly have no reason to do so. Alysane did find a written list that seemed to match my activities, including those within the Keep that he should not have been able to observe such as my sleeping arrangements and meetings with Maege and my sisters. Someone within the Keep, likely a servant, had informed him.

No further messages from the Red Keep arrived, and we finally decided that we needed to answer in Rolston’s name. Tansy wrote a reply, allowing that the books had been discovered but demanding a cash payment before they were handed over. We would see how the mysterious figure from King’s Landing reacted. In the meantime, we alerted the officials in Mormont Port to report every arrival on the island immediately and hold them for inspection. That would allow me to sample their thoughts.

Maege and Alysane wanted a maester for the island; I was unsure what benefits one provided beyond teaching superstition to the children and performing barbaric amputations without benefit of disinfectant or anesthesia. Melly could do no worse, particularly once we had armed her with disinfectants.

If we wanted more answers, Rolston would have to supply them. I descended into the cells to begin further questioning, accompanied by Lyra and Beth. The lone guard reported that Rolston had been very quiet, and I immediately saw why: he had twisted the cover of his mattress into a makeshift rope and hanged himself in his cell. He had been dead far too long for any residual thoughts to still linger in his brain.

Maege seemed unconcerned when we reported the death to her, but I remained certain that Rolston’s friend planned something very unpleasant for me and my loved ones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris defends her new homeland.


	78. Chapter Fifty-Six (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tansy's Raven earns his corn. Again.

Chapter Fifty-Six (Dejah Thoris)

With the help of Melly the healer I carefully bent the copper tubing I had looted from Castle Black to build a distilling apparatus. Every day we experimented in our laboratory, formerly half of the guard commander’s office, until we extracted a tiny amount of alcohol from a mash made of crushed potatoes.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Melly said. She did not speak often, thinking me insane and fearing to awaken the deep anger she believed rested inside me. I did not know where she obtained such impressions, as Rolston had refused to even acknowledge her existence.

“But it is,” I said. “We will use this to clean wounds, and prevent infection.”

“You mean festering.”

I checked her thoughts.

“Exactly.”

She made a humming sound, which I understood these people emitted to signify thought.

“You can do something like with moldy bread and spider webs,” she said. “Not exactly the same of course, you pack it on there and wrap it tight. More often than not, the festering will stop. Suppose it kills those tiny creatures of yours?”

“That seems likely,” I said. She must have been describing some sort of natural anti-biotic. With better equipment I could probably isolate it.

Rolston had known of our efforts, but did not approve. He had grudgingly allowed Melly to take up the healer’s craft only to lighten his own workload. Now that Melly had to oversee all medical cases, she hoped that the alcohol would help improve her success rate but had little confidence in these foreign methods.

* * *

My sister had become my lover. From my study of others’ thoughts I knew the idea of two women having sex with one another to be profoundly objectionable in this society. This was not the case on Barsoom; with sex and reproduction biologically distinct one could love who one chose. My adoptive sisters and mother would tolerate sex between Tansy and I as long as we did not flaunt it, because they loved us, but few others would be so accepting.

Beth Cassel had not been wrong in her emotional outburst soon after we had met: in this society, women who loved women were considered an abomination and often put to death. Long tradition held that Mormont women did not have sex with the island’s men, so few besides the disgraced maester suspected us of preferring women, or perhaps more accurately in the case of myself and Tansy, having equal preference for men or women.

Perhaps that was no longer true for me. While I enjoyed looking at attractive men of this planet when they did not know that I observed them – telepathy definitely helped in this regard – I found no wish to engage in sex with any of them. Should I encounter an attractive man of my own species, I likely would feel desire again. But such a meeting seemed unlikely.

My inability to take John Carter’s sex organ inside me still rankled, and I strongly suspected that this – at least in part – had caused him to grow tired of our marriage. I could not fully satisfy him, nor would I be able to fully satisfy any of these other men. I also feared their reaction at discovering our anatomical differences. Tansy knew what to expect, and was not repulsed – rather, she found me beautiful and desired me.

John Carter had been excited by the thought of me making love to other women, and had greatly enjoyed himself when my sister Thuvia joined us for sex and became highly excited simply watching Thuvia make love to me. I now wondered if her marriage to our son Carthoris, which had ended those activities within his sight, had been the start of my own marriage’s deterioration. While John Carter had no objection to sex between me and another woman, he had made his position very clear that he would kill any man who laid hands on me, even at my invitation. I had accepted this restriction, though on reflection I now saw this as an unreasonable intrusion into my personal affairs. Marriage is no barrier to sex with the partner of one’s mutual choosing on my planet, and since we were on my planet, should we not have followed its mores rather than those of an alien people?

Tansy had not approached me again for sex since our return to Bear Island, and while I would have been receptive, I did not press the issue myself, either. I believed that Beth’s habit of climbing into our bed in the middle of the night precluded love-making in the dark hours; while I felt no shame, I did not wish to distress her. While Tansy could easily have arranged our daytime schedules to permit our coming together for sex, I did not yet feel an intense enough craving to ask her to do so. I knew that I would feel that very soon. 

* * *

I returned to my office one afternoon to find Marsden waiting for me; I could not recall him ever having sought me out on his own. Marsden had been with us at Moat Cailin and in the battle with the Bolton army. He was younger than Ronis, tall and broad-shouldered with the typical features of Bear Island men: shaggy brown hair, pale skin and deep blue eyes. He had been punched in the face once too often to be considered attractive.

He had fully embraced the Barsoom style of combat, and had an easy way about him that connected well with young recruits. While he stole glances at my breasts on occasion, he did so with discretion and had never offended me.

“Princess,” he said. “Found the tunnel. Think so, anyway.”

He proceeded to describe a location that meant nothing to me, so I summoned Trisha from my desk where she approved and signed papers that should have been approved and signed by me, and the three of us rode southward along the inlet leading to Mormont Port.

Eventually we reached a small outcrop of gray rocks, well back from the shoreline and screened from the water by a thick stand of the trees known as “pines.”

“Here,” Marsden pointed. We dismounted and climbed amid the rocks. I saw nothing unusual at first, then a crumbling wooden trap door at the bottom of a cleft between a pair of rocks each at least twice as tall as I and much wider.

“You have been down the tunnel?” I asked.

“No. Haven’t opened it. Waited for you.”

I climbed down into the cleft and carefully pulled back the rotting door. It had hinges driven into the rock, and both the rusted metal and aging wood threatened to break apart. Underneath, a shaft including stairs had been driven into the rock.

“Someone put a lot of effort into this,” Trisha said. “And did it in secret.”

“You found no one with knowledge?”

“They had knowledge,” she said. “But just that it existed. Not where. Not even Lady Maege knew where it started.”

“Brought candles,” Marsden said. Trisha sparked a tiny fire with her dagger on the rock, and lit the first candle. He handed us each a candle of our own to light from the first one, and then led the way downward.

The stairs brought us deeper underground than I had expected, and opened onto a chamber at least ten yards across as the Westerosi measured such things. Other chambers had been carved into the rock around its rim. Inside we found very dusty beds, tables and similar items.

“A barracks,” Trisha said. “They didn’t have to rotate the garrison from the Keep.”

Fresh-air vents had been driven into the underground complex, and a tunnel indeed stretched in the direction of the island outpost. Someone had put in a great deal of effort; the stones had been ground smooth and the roof coated in tar to hold back moisture. We followed it until we reached another set of stairs, which led upward to an iron trap door. I pushed it open and we climbed into the observation post I had seen through the eyes of Tansy’s raven.

“I wonder why this was a secret,” Trisha said as we looked over the edge into the water. “It’s a much easier posting than I’d thought from your description.”

“I do not know,” I said. “It would allow the lord of the island to separate the Guard, but I do not know why this might have been thought necessary.”

“It’s old,” Marsden said. “So’s the reason.”

I nodded; he was likely correct. I would discuss our discovery with Tansy, Aly and Maege and obtain work crews to clean the barracks and tunnel. We would post lookouts here even without full repairs having been made.

* * *

Pia the laundress had taken to shyly approaching me when she could find me alone, to show the work Braden had done to restore her smile. He had to file off many of her broken teeth, a slow and painful process, and then craft replacement teeth in two long sections, one that fit over the stubs of her lower teeth and one that fit over the upper teeth.

It left Pia with a strange, slurred speech.

“I hope that will clear up when he fits both sets,” she said, during a visit to my office in the Guard barracks to show me her new lower teeth. Trisha had gone for more coffee. “I owe you so much, Princess. What can I ever do to repay you?”

“Nothing. I was glad to help you.”

“I have skills.”

“I would not ask you to have sex with me.”

She blushed.

“No, not those skills. Like Tansy, I’ve moved on from those days. I don’t just wash clothes. I can sew them. I’m actually quite good.”

“I do not think . . .” I began, when an idea flashed into my mind. “Wait. Let me draw it.”

I sketched Taena Merryweather’s pirate-queen outfit, a tight-fitting top bare over the midriff. I made it bare over the arms as well, though Taena’s had covered hers. Below the waist, I sketched a skirt dropping halfway to the knee, with a wide sash tide around its top edge.

She studied it, and blushed.

“Women dress like this in your lands?” she asked.

“We do not dress at all,” I said. I pressed the back of my hand against her bare lower arm. “You can feel the warmth of my skin. We need more exposure to the . . . open air or we will overheat and become ill. I would prefer to be naked, but that is not considered acceptable here.”

“So would I,” Pia answered. “Truth be told. At least on warm days. What colors?”

“Black for the tunic and skirt,” I said. “And a green sash, for House Mormont colors.”

“May I?” she asked, taking the writing instrument. “Right here, over the left breast, I could stitch a Mormont bear on a green shield.”

“I would like that.”

“Like what?” Beth asked, entering the room. Pia shyly nodded to her.

“Pia has offered to make new clothing for me,” I said, holding up the sketch. “Taena, the pirate queen who I killed, wore something like this. I envied it and wished to strip her of it, but it had been ruined by her blood and the gash made by my dagger.”

“I want one too,” Beth said. “Would you? I can pay you.”

“It’s not difficult,” Pia said, covering her mouth to speak. “Far easier than most clothing. But is it not . . . immodest?”

Beth sighed, and perched on the edge of my desk. Dressed for work, she wore one of our many simple brown dresses though like me she had removed the sleeves and wore nothing underneath it.

“Yes, it’s immodest. That’s sort of the point. It’s my body, and on this island, I can dress as I like. If someone doesn’t like seeing that I have breasts – and scars – then that’s their problem.”

“I just . . .“ Pia began. “Men used me. I wouldn’t wish them to think they still could. The princess freed me from that.”

“Truly?” Beth asked. “How?”

“Jaime Lannister’s squire took me as his woman,” Pia said, dropping her hand and speaking with more force. “I so wanted Jaime, I thought it a privilege to fuck his squire. Then the Princess found us in the woods fucking, and shamed him, and eventually I saw what he was. I never went back.”

“I still use his saddle,” I said. “It is a very fine one.”

“Jaime Lannister,” Beth mused. “He murdered Jory, my cousin who helped my father raise me. If I still kept faith, I’d pray for the chance to kill him.”

“He was beautiful,” Pia said. “And I thought him kind. Giving me to his squire to fuck wasn’t kind. I wasn’t his to give.”

“Damned straight,” Beth said.

“I hope you do kill him. And I’ll be happy to make your outfit. It looks . . . dangerous.”

“I think it looks pretty,” I added. “And I like the color.”

“If it makes you both happy,” Pia said, “Then I’ll be happy as well.”

Beth picked up the drawing.

“It needs boots. High-topped, black leather boots.”

Beth Cassel would fit in well on Barsoom.

“Those, I can’t make,” Pia said. “I don’t know if Mormont Port has a cordwainer. I can find out though, it would be worth knowing.”

She made the curtsey motion and left us. Beth turned to me and smiled.

“For someone who never set out to become a savior of women, you’ve done a pretty fair job of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pia, Gilly, Tansy, me. Trisha and Sandy. You’ve touched some lives, Dejah.”

Her words pleased me, but Beth seemed upset.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” she said.

“Angry?” I asked. “I am honored. Humbled.”

“Your face, it . . . changed.”

“My blood is blue. When your face gains more blood due to emotion, it reddens. Mine gets darker. More blue.”

“Well, blue-blood, there’s bubbling hot spring water and a brace of roasted chickens waiting for us.”

We shared a bath, and afterwards a fine Mid-Day Meal with wine. It was a good day. 

* * *

Leaving the bathhouse with Beth, another thought struck me.

“What happens to the water after we bathe?”

“I’ve no idea,” she said. “I suppose it runs into a drain and on to the sea.”

I stopped on the gravel-covered path and looked about.

“I do not see a drain.”

“Well, it would be under the ground, right? And leave the building right about . . . there.”

She pointed to the wall of the bathhouse, where a wide pipe indeed left the building and plunged into the ground.

“That pipe must always have water running through it.”

“True enough,” she nodded. “Where are you going with this?”

“If people shat into the pipe, then the water would carry the shit out to sea as well.”

“You want people to shit into a pipe?”

“They would shit down a hole that leads into a pipe, where the water will take it away.”

I pondered this a little more.

“A smaller pipe could bring water to them to clean their ass of leftover shit.”

Beth shook her head.

“Is this the sort of thought that runs through your head when you disappear into your daydreams? People shitting into pipes and washing their asses afterwards?”

“I do not always think of shit.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Shit helps the tiny creatures that cause disease breed,” I said. “They feed on it and live in it. Taking it away in a pipe will make everyone healthier.”

“And make the Keep smell better.”

“Yes,” I said, “that, too.”

When we returned to the Keep, I walked to the forge in search of Gendry. Amused, Beth followed but stayed close to me when we entered the smithy.

“The better parts of King’s Landing had those,” he said after I had described my idea. “They’re called sewers. The pipe’s made of iron?”

“I am not sure.”

“If it is, adding a tube should be easy. I suppose we could add a small room to the bathhouse to give a little privacy. That’s how it was in the finer parts of the city, at least so I heard.”

“I shall speak with Tansy about adding a shit room.”

“Let me know,” he said, smiling. “You might want to consider a different name.”

“You could add these anywhere along the pipe? Including within the Keep?”

“I don’t see why not. If it’s an iron pipe.”

“And if it is not?”

He stepped out of the smithy to look up the hillside.

“You’d be talking about a mile or more of pipe,” he said. “Maybe longer. That’s a great deal of iron.”

“What else would it be?” Beth asked; I was pleased to see her enter the conversation. “Other than iron?”

“Fired clay would be my guess,” Gendry said. “And it had to have been made here. So one would think there’s a means to make your, um, added pieces.”

Soon, Mormont Keep had its own shit rooms, one in the bathhouse and one in the Keep itself. No longer did someone have to carry brimming pots filled with shit about. I felt that I had made a valuable contribution to life on the island, but no one wished to speak of it.

* * *

I awoke to the screeching of Tansy’s raven. Curiously, it did not seem to bother my sister, whose nude form sprawled across me, breathing the heavy rhythm of the deep dream-state of sleep. I realized that the bird had somehow broadcast its alarm to me telepathically, a feat I was not sure I could have emulated.

“You have my attention,” I said softly. “Show me the problem.”

Ships. At least three of them, landing armed men and possibly armed women on the rocky shores of Bear Island.

“Where?”

The image expanded to show more of the island including Mormont Keep and its small port. The invaders came ashore to the south, outside the view of lookouts and guards. I noted that our small island fort, had it been manned, would likely have detected the ships’ approach. I should have posted a watch there as soon as we uncovered the tunnel and not waited for repairs. We had been very fortunate that Tansy’s raven had been aloft.

“You are a good bird,” I said. “You shall have corn.”

I left Tansy sleeping as I quickly pulled on my battle harness and picked up my sword, and walked into Beth’s room to wake her. She came fully alert immediately and dressed as well.

“Wake Lyra and Alysane,” I told her. “I will get Maege.”

As always, a female Mormont soldier stood guard outside Maege’s door, I asked her to wake the Lady Mormont immediately, and she beckoned me to follow. Maege awoke as we entered, and I sat on the edge of her bed and told her what the raven had seen.

“What,” she asked, “do you want to do?”

“They were still unloading from their ships when the raven left them,” I said. “It will take them some time to finish that and organize themselves, though not long. They will have to pass through a narrow cleft between the rocks to approach Mormont Keep. I will take half of the garrison and ambush them there. The other half will remain here on alert.”

“I know the place. A sound plan. Command arrangements?”

“Lyra, Ronis and Marsden with me as seconds, Beth and Trisha as my aides. Alysane commands the remaining garrison on the walls here, you in the Keep with Jory and Tansy. Salna, Jarack, Trevan and Crodell as your personal body guards.”

She thought about sending Jory with me; then she realized that I would refuse. She decided not to cross me.

“Very well. Make it so, Princess.”

Lyra, Alysane and Jory were at the door as I left. I told them to alert the garrison while I awakened Tansy, and to ask Ronis to select fifty good fighters for the mission.

“You’re going to kill them?” my sister asked when I had awakened her. Beth sat on the edge of the bed and smiled nervously.

“Most likely,” I said. “They did not come here to trade.”

“Come back safely, both of you. Lyra as well.”

“We will. I will need your raven’s assistance.”

“Bring him back safely, too. I never had a pet before.”

I directed Beth to put on her ringed armor coat, and I changed my mind and did the same, replacing my harness with black Night’s Watch leggings and tunic, and a padded gambeson under the armor. We slipped our Mormont dark green surcoats over the armor; they would not give us away in the darkness.

“Mormont colors,” Tansy told Beth, “look good on you.”

“They feel good on me,” she said. “You’ll be with Maege?”

“I assume so, with Jory and Lyanna as well.”

“Good,” Beth said. “Stay safe.”

“Don’t worry. Dejah will tell you, I’m a woman who knows her limitations.”

In the courtyard Lyra had lined up the fighters in five rows of ten each. Eighteen were women, the rest men. I knew all of the faces, and had trained with them and fought with almost all of them at Moat Cailin or against Ramsay Bolton. Six had been part of the Brotherhood. Alysane had already begun to quietly position the others on the walls and towers to augment the guards on watch. Melly the healer joined us; I considered directing her to stay but decided that she might be needed. I wished to leave Meg with Alysane, but she would not let her friend go without her.

I knelt and gestured to the fighters to gather around. The raven landed on my shoulder. He was larger and heavier than he looked at a distance.

“The Iron Born have landed to the south of here and will likely march north to attack the Keep,” I said. “There is a narrow passage through the rocks about two leagues from here. Do you all know it?”

I saw all of them nod except Beth and Meg.

“I need four very experienced, very quiet hunters who know the land around those rocks well. Raise your hands.”

Three men and two women did so. All understood my intentions. I selected two of each, then picked up two of the white-painted decorative rocks that stood before the entrance to the great hall. I placed these side-by-side in front of me.

“These are the rocks, and this the passage between.” I drew a line in the dirt. All nodded.

“You two will climb the rocks on this side, quietly, and you two those on the other. Do not let yourselves be seen. You are to assure that we are not ourselves ambushed. Retreat should you find an ambush in place. If you find only scouts, kill them silently. The raven will tell me what has happened.”

“See!” the bird confirmed, though he knew that I would actually be following the scouts’ thoughts. “See! See!”

“The rest of us will assemble at this end of the passage,” I indicated the spot on my primitive model. “We will find a dark place and kneel in the shadows. I will be at the point, my steward Trisha at my side and my sisters Lyra and Beth on either side of us, the rest forming a wedge formation behind us. Ronis will be on the far left, Marsden on the far right. They will make sure that the last row of the wedge almost touches either side of the passage. Melly and Meg will remain at the very back, in the shadows.

“At my signal, a scream of battle, we will charge directly down the passage and kill everyone in front of us. Hold your lines, keep your brothers and sisters on your flanks, and remember how we have practiced. Fight like you have trained.”

“How many?” Lyra asked quietly.

“Three ships, so one hundred twenty to one hundred fifty total including anyone they left to guard the ships.”

“Long odds,” Trisha said.

“You are a Mormont woman,” I said. “We are each worth ten men.”

“And the Mormont men?” Ronis asked.

“Nine and a half,” I said. He laughed.

We set out down the path southward, with the raven flying overhead. He saw no scouts until we came close to the rocky ground, and I also detected them, one on either side of the path. Our hunting teams killed each of them without a sound.

The Iron Born had only just set out on their march when we arrived at the passage, and we rested while we awaited them. I felt Beth’s nervousness, and reached over to take her hand. She squeezed mine gently.

Soon enough, I detected more scouts: one on either flank, and one carefully coming straight up the path. Our hunters dealt with the flanking scouts, again without allowing them to raise an alarm. I gestured to my sisters and the fighters to stay in place, and scuttled forward to a deep shadow on the right side of the rocky passage.

The scout came forward carefully, bent over with one hand touching the sandy floor of the passage. It was a woman, moving very carefully but expecting to find the passage empty. When she passed me, I leapt on her back and put my hand over her mouth, intending to break her neck. She collapsed to the ground, twisted to face me and pulled a knife out of her sleeve, all much faster than I had thought possible given her size.

The Iron Born woman was enormous, taller than I and broader across the shoulders. She had black hair that fell in ringlets to her shoulders, visible rolls of fat on her bare upper arms, and breasts each larger than my head. She tried to stab me in the neck but I blocked her with my left forearm against her right one while my right hand again held her mouth closed. She drew back her arm for another stabbing attempt, but this time I grabbed her hand and pulled it along with the knife to her chest.

Her eyes bulged as I pressed the knife downward through her ringed armor and into her enormous left breast, but the blade snapped before it could pierce her heart or lung. It likely had not been long enough to reach a vital organ. I broke her wrist so that she could not stab me with another blade and pressed my left forearm against her throat. She struggled but could not breathe, smacking her left hand fruitlessly against my head and shoulder as the flow of blood to her brain stopped. Despite her immense size she was not very strong, and though I could not feel her flesh through my ringed armor and hers she seemed surprisingly soft.

She attempted to speak, her thoughts indicating that she wished to beg for mercy. She had left her young son behind on the ships, the perfect child in her belief despite her contempt for the child’s father. She had been a potter and lost her job, so she signed on to this crew to feed her child while her husband exercised and dabbled in art; apparently Iron Born men scorned paid work, calling it “paying the gold price.” She felt very sorry for herself and wished to tell me of her misery even as I choked the life out of her. Tears rolled out of her eyes but I did not relax the pressure on her blood vessels.

I could not tell if this were one of the fantasies the mind projects as it dies. Granting her desire would endanger my sisters and our troops, but I had no wish to do so. Within moments her body relaxed. Her unknown commander had obviously sent their most expendable crewwoman forward as a scout, which had not been a very good tactic.

The scout had been older than most fighting women, I saw in the moonlight, with an odd reddish mottled pattern on her face that appeared to be some sort of skin condition. Her thoughts indicated that she had not yet died so I drew her sword, centered it on her chest and shoved it through her heart up to the hilt; she gasped slightly and voided her waste.

I could not leave the massive body on the path. I yanked her thick cloak from her corpse, arranged it so that her blood and shit would not leak onto me and then slung her over my shoulder. Even with my enhanced strength I staggered under her weight, which must have easily exceeded 300 of what the Westerosi called “pounds.” I carried the heavy body back to our waiting place where I pushed it into a space between two rocks, making sure that the head was turned away so that I did not have to look into her dead eyes. I left her sword sticking in her chest, not wishing it to clang against the rocks and warn her people of our presence.

As I resumed my position, Beth and Trisha each placed a hand on one of my shoulders, with Lyra doing the same to Trisha while the fighters on either side did the same to them. We all drew our swords or axes, grounding them in front of us in anticipation of battle. I felt the Iron Born approach; the man in front had ingested some type of drug that made him insensate to pain and extremely aggressive. He was huge, both tall and broad across the shoulders, very muscular and wearing no tunic or armor. His head had been shaved as well. I decided to kill him first.

On the right, facing Trisha came a man bearing a twin-bladed axe. In front of Lyra strode another stocky man, with a white-streaked beard. The warrior on the left, opposing Beth, could have been either a man or a woman; this person had a smooth face, slender body and what appeared in the shadows to be feminine features, but was as large as the men and walked like one. I knew that some people of Barsoom hatch with indeterminate gender, though these are rarely allowed to mature. Before I could ponder this question, the genderless person noticed us kneeling on the sandy floor of the passage and started to speak. I screamed before the words were out of his or her mouth.

The huge Iron Born warrior was fast, but not fast enough. I removed his sword arm with a powerful upward cut as he raised his weapon and stabbed him in his bare chest; between the drug and the keen edge of my Valyrian blade he felt no pain, only a startled realization that he was dying. On my left the genderless person had reacted with great speed and parried Beth’s initial attack, but following the triune pattern of Helium she stepped right and forced her opponent back toward me, exposing his or her flank to my sword. I sank it deeply into his or her side and Beth slashed his or her throat. I spun back to attack new opponents, and as I did so Beth darted behind me and ran Lyra’s opponent through the heart while his sword remained caught on Lyra’s. Even as he died Lyra turned to her left and stabbed the man facing Trisha in the side of his neck.

As the axe-man died Trisha slipped behind my back to replace Beth on that side, hacking the arm off a surprised man who had barely registered that Beth had left him an opening. The triune style is deadly to those who have never seen it, and the Valyrian steel wielded by my sisters and I assured that their ringed armor and iron-reinforced wooden shields offered little protection.

Whoever commanded the Iron Born had placed their best warriors in the first ranks, which normally would have made good sense. In this case, it meant that they died first, some of them before they were even fully aware that an attack had begun.

The four of us pressed forward, our swords weaving an intricate pattern. I usually struck hard at a new opponent’s guard, temporarily numbing their arm with the force of the strike. My steward or one of my sisters then struck for their heart or throat in the space created before the enemy soldier could mount a defense and by then I had already turned to attack someone else.

The Mormont warriors filled the space to either side of us, growling like bears as they fought in what I understood to be a long-standing habit. Soon I saw the open space behind the Iron Born, and pressed forward with even more force. Once we had broken through them, the Iron Born settled into smaller groups but could find no cohesion in their confused state and fought purely as individuals.

“Dejah!” I heard Trisha’s high-pitched scream. “It’s Meg!”

I turned to my right, where a beautiful Iron Born woman with unbound red hair streaming past her waist shoved Meg’s spear aside with her sword and knocked the smaller woman down with an elbow to the face. Meg should not have been taking part in the fighting at all, and definitely not so far ahead of our line.

As I rushed to Meg’s aid with Trisha right behind me, the woman dropped her sword, snatched up Meg’s spear and drove it into Meg’s chest. Meg’s arms and legs bucked upward; she raised her hands to grasp the spear but they fell away as she relaxed and died, the spear pinning her to the ground.

The Iron Born woman thrust both hands into the air and cried out in triumph. She wore a leather skirt but fought otherwise unclothed, with a pattern of intricate blue tattoos across her tanned arms and pale breasts. I reached her just as she turned to look at me, and I met her eyes as I swung my sword against her waist as hard as I could, cutting her in half. She remained standing for a brief moment, her eyes widening in shock and her scream abruptly ending, then fell to the ground in two pieces.

The eastern sky had begun to lighten. The surviving Iron Born pulled back, some of them panicking and running. They did not run well, and proved easy prey to Mormont swords and axes. The passage and the sandy ground beyond were littered with dead and dying Iron Born.

The handful of remaining Iron Born continued to fight, but we pressed them back into a ring around one of their ships that had been run aground onto the beach. Telepathically scanning the ships, I found no one aboard, adult or child. Apparently, the enormous scout had fantasized the perfect child. The Iron Born leader, a young but hard-faced woman, held up both hands and called for the fighting to stop. She wished to speak with our commander.

We had killed or severely wounded over one hundred of her people by this point, but she still held a slight edge in numbers. Their people had apparently been at sea for a long while and had not adjusted to walking, let alone fighting, on land while ours were the very best fighters of the North’s hardest-fighting house. And the Iron Born had had no answer for my sisters and me, fighting as a unit.

I had little doubt that we would kill them all when fighting resumed, and would have chosen to ignore the request to parley and cut their leader down but most of our warriors had broken off their attacks at the signal. I decided to place unacceptable terms on any offer to surrender, and force a final annihilating fight. The leader’s thoughts indicated that she hoped to bargain rather than surrender, which would make my task easier. She feared that I would simply run her through when she drew near; in her memory I had laughed maniacally as I cut Meg’s killer in half. The Iron Born leader must have been hallucinating from the stress of battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, a painful flashback for Beth Cassel.


	79. Chapter Twenty-Two (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter engages in battle. And aerial sex.

Chapter Twenty-Two (John Carter)

I ordered Tyrion Lannister’s confinement to continue, as I prepared for another dragon flight, this time to Pentos to confer face-to-face with Illyrio Mopatis. Once again Rastifa would remain in charge in my absence; I would take Calye along to service my physical needs and Ornela for her sound advice. I left Drogon in Meereen and this time took Rhaegal, who I thought would benefit from the attention.

The flight took four days; it probably would have been half that had we not had to seek carefully for landmarks along the way. We stopped for the night in isolated spots, to sleep and so that I could take Calye on solid ground.

“John,” she began tentatively, after I had finished with her on the third night. “Could we . . . could we try it while we’re . . . we’re flying?”

I tied a rope to the pommel of Rhaegal’s saddle and around Cayle’s waist, and as she had suggested placed her in my lap and entered her while Rhaegal flew steady and level at low speed. I found the simultaneous combination of the rushing wind, the sight of the passing ground and the release of my seed almost more pleasure than I could bear, and certainly more than I had ever experienced with my plain-faced, oddly-bosomed bed warmer. By her screams of joy, I knew that she shared my reaction, climaxing at least three times.

I would have to share this with Daenerys.

“I would try this as well, John Carter,” Ornela said when we had landed. “I am khaleen, but I remain a woman.”

I hesitated; despite her skin tone I had found Ornela attractive and firm of bosom, but as one of my khaleen advisors I had not fully considered her as a woman.

“A woman has desires,” she continued. “It is known.”

I found the experience with Ornela likewise enjoyable, but I probably would have enjoyed Meris when mixed with the thrill of flight. I knew even as I entered the young Lhazareen woman that I had likely made a grave mistake, but in the moment I did not care.

* * *

“John,” Calye began as she watched me fry bacon after I had taken her aloft and taken her. I had cooked my own food as a cavalryman, and didn’t mind doing so now though as Emperor I rarely had the opportunity. I found that I’d missed this simple ritual. “Tyrion asked . . . he asked if you had promised me that I could . . . I could kill Jaime Lannister.”

“He wishes his brother spared,” I said. “When we invade Westeros.”

“I, I, I told him you’d never mentioned it,” she said. “But I want to. I want to kill him. To kill Jaime.”

I considered that as I drained off the grease and shared out the rashers between the three of us.

“Because he raped you.”

“Jaime, he didn’t himself,” Calye said. “But he . . . he arranged it. The rapes, the beatings. They hired me to do a, a, a job. I did it. They knew, they knew what I was. That whole family is evil.”

I found myself in agreement. These Lannisters would have to be eliminated. I pondered her request for a moment before answering.

“Your cause is just,” I finally said to Calye. “But I promised Meris that she could kill him. Her cause is also just.”

“You do not wish to kill Tyrion Lannister?” Ornela asked Calye. “It would seem that he did greater harm to you.”

“I . . . I do,” Calye said. “But he was just . . . just a boy. His brother he knew, he knew what he was doing. I hate him even more than I do Tyrion. And their father but, but Tyrion killed him already.”

“Very well,” I said. “You were my first follower, and that has weight. I’ll speak with Meris, and ask that she allow you to share in Jaime Lannister’s demise.”

“Thank you,” Calye said. “What did he, what did he do to her?”

“That’s her story to tell,” I said. “If she wishes. I’ll let it rest there, but I assure you that she has equal reason to wish him dead.”

I found it difficult to believe that Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister had been part of the same knightly order, the seven finest examples of chivalry in Westeros. Varys had assured me that Lannister was not the worst of them. I would abolish the Kingsguard when I took this Iron Throne.

* * *

We flew over Pentos by day, locating my mansion, and returned to land there at night. We alighted from Rhaegal at the far corner of the gardens, unobserved, and walked around to the front entrance. We found the place well-lit, with many people inside eating, drinking and carousing. Several disapproving Dothraki stood on the steps outside, believing us to be late arrivals to the party.

“My khal!” one recognized me. “You’ve been gone for years! I didn’t think to ever see you again.”

“Where is Vorsakko?”

“In our quarters, my khal. I will bring him.”

The man ran off, as the others approached to greet me.

“What has happened in my absence?” I asked Vorsakko as soon as he appeared.

“Vyros the steward had a letter from you,” the aging smith said, “giving him full control of this place, to do whatever he wished. I didn’t believe him, but none of us can read.”

“You were right,” I said. “There was no such letter. How many Dothraki are here?”

“Twenty-one,” he said, “including me.”

“Gather them all,” I said. “Place a guard at every exit. No one leaves without my permission.”

He nodded, and issued orders.

“Your mother sends greetings,” I told him as we waited for the men to reach their positions.

“Vorsakhi doesn’t yet ride the night lands?” he asked, surprised. “She must have 80 years by now.”

“She still speaks with venom,” I said. “And has served me well at the city Qarth.”

“I would expect no less.”

Once the estate had been sealed, I stalked into the mansion’s great entrance hall flanked by Calye and Ornela, with Vorsakko and two more Dothraki behind me.

“Where is Vyros?” I shouted over the din.

“My lord!” the steward simpered, “how glorious is your return! How unexpected!”

“Seize him,” I told the Dothraki. “Take him out front and hold him there until I give further orders.”

“Unhand him this instant!” a well-dressed, heavily perfumed fat man said “I said this inst . . .”

And those were his final words, as Calye buried her sword deeply into his bulging belly.

Aided by the remaining servants, who detested Vyros and his boon companions, the Dothraki took 61 people into custody plus twenty hired whores. I ordered the whores released, and the guests tied together in the center of the garden. There I had Rhaegal burn them. I told Vorsakko to impale Vyros by the front gate.

In the morning, I mounted one of the Dothraki horses and along with Calye and Ornela rode to Illyrio’s mansion. I found my friend in an ill humor.

“It’s said that you’ve killed my cousin,” he began, without greeting me.

“That’s not entirely true,” I said. “I ordered him impaled. If the job was done properly, he’ll last at least two more days before he dies.”

“And your whore killed a magister of Pentos.”

“Syrio Forel has taught her well. He sends his greetings.”

“And what of the other guests?”

“Ah,” I said, as though it had only now come to me, “your whores had left by then. I had my dragon burn them.”

“You massacred the leading citizens of Pentos?”

“No,” I said, making sure to smile as I did so. “They stole from me, and they died. That seems fair to me. I killed intruders in my home, which is the right of any property owner.”

“It is known,” Ornela added, though the Dothraki had little concept of property rights.

Illyrio sat heavily at his breakfast table, and gestured for me to do the same.

“Those were to be your supporters,” he said. “To deliver Pentos into your hands.”

“To rule Pentos themselves,” I corrected, “with myself as their figurehead. Pentos will bow to my rule, no differently than Meereen or Qarth.”

“It is known,” Ornela repeated.

“Now, my friend,” I began, “let me tell you of your future. You will soon have direct communications with the cities of Dragon’s Bay, and that will allow you to take up your position of Imperial Treasurer.”

“And John Carter will fill your hands with useless gold,” Ornela added. “With items far more desirable than cheese.”

“You have my attention, my lady.”

* * *

On our return journey, I enjoyed relations with both Calye and Ornela while in flight, though not at the same time or even with both aboard Rhaegal.

“Once we are back in Meereen,” I told them both as we finished a meal on an empty hilltop somewhere east of Selhorys, “there will be no talk of any intercourse between myself and the Honored One. Is this clear?”

“I know that it cannot continue,” Ornela said. “I did not wish to let the opportunity pass.”

“And I know you’ll . . . you’ll kill me,” Calye said, “if I, I, I defy you.”

They meant what they said, so I considered the matter closed and turned my thoughts to the coming campaign. I clearly had left Illyrio to his own devices for too long, and would have to secure my rule in both Pentos and Myr before leaving for Westeros.

I devoted a great deal of consideration to the march westward; I could not see how to support 235,000 men and still more animals even in the verdant pastures and farms we saw pass below us. We would have to make the advance in echelons.

I would lead the first wave myself, and have these lead divisions fully equipped with the armor and weaponry I had directed. Based on my generals’ reports, that would give me 60,000 to 70,000 regulars and perhaps 40,000 Dothraki. The Army of Northern Virginia had rarely topped 70,000 men all told, though I knew that the canny Robert E. Lee had allowed the Yankees to believe he had much larger numbers. And truth be told, more than that could not be effectively deployed for battle in a reasonable time, nor fed by a single supply line.

The second echelon would set out six to ten weeks later, once it had also been fully equipped. That should also have been long enough for the grass to replenish itself along our path. I could fly back and lead it myself, and if necessary I would do so, but I decided that I would allow Meris to direct this column with Istarion as her chief of staff, and keep Selmy with me for the battle I anticipated in front of Selhorys. Should we prevail at Selhorys and take its bridge intact, the first wave would turn to the south-west and march for Galati, leaving a strong garrison at the bridgehead. Meris would continue westward, crossing the Rhoyne at Selhorys. I would rejoin this column before it reached first Pentos and then Myr, leaving Selmy to mop up Volantis and any other resistance in the Disputed Lands. I could then return once the fleet had been overhauled and personally oversee the landing at Lys.

Absently, I patted Rhaegal’s scales. The presence of dragons allowed me a command flexibility no army I had ever served had enjoyed. I did not have to leave the fate of my armies to untested commanders, but could move from place to place to direct crucial operations myself.

The dragons represented powerful weapons, and even more powerful symbols. But they also gave me a command and control capability that no foe could match.

* * *

“My chieftain,” Daenerys began as we enjoyed our after-breakfast coffee, along with Rastifa the Beautiful. “While you visited Pentos, I had a thought. You will be much engaged in preparing the army for its march west.”

“That is true,” I said. “As will Rastifa and all of my generals.”

“Yes, but there is little role for me. I can help you by taking on a different task. Let me fly Drogon to Qarth and then into Yi Ti, to secure the cha and tobacco you promised the merchant princes. You’ve said that the wealth these plants will generate is necessary to fund my return to the Iron Throne.”

I considered her offer. She wished to contribute to our efforts, yet she had no knowledge or skill in war or politics. If she were to truly rule by my side, she had to fully participate in the conquest, and I would not see her life risked in battle.

“Very well,” I said. “You may take Drogon and Viserion, with Irri to ride Viserion. Belwas will go with you, two guards he names, and two of Xaro’s gardeners.”

“Might I take Lord Tyrion? He is so despondent.”

“You may take Tyrion,” I said, “but Ornela goes as well. You will listen to her over anything Tyrion says.”

“Yes, my chieftain.”

Immediately after breakfast, I summoned Doreah and dictated orders for Mormont, to prepare for my primary wife’s visit and assure that her mission did not extend beyond stealing tea and tobacco from the almost-Chinese Empire. My lovely concubine took them to the visual telegraph station on a small tower atop the Great Pyramid, and I knew that within a few hours Jorah Mormont would be reading them, haltingly.

* * *

I had not forgotten my desire to see two of my concubines pleasure one another, and having seen that Doreah now moved without pain I summoned her and Lynesse to attend to me. Seeing Doreah hesitate, Lynesse moved quickly to me and molded herself to my right side.

“My Emperor,” she breathed, “whatever you desire, is yours.”

“Doreah,” I said, “come here. To my left.”

She uncertainly advanced, and pressed herself to me as Lynesse had done.

“Kiss her,” I said.

“No,” Doreah answered. “You promised that I wouldn’t have to fuck any of your minions. That includes this bitch.”

“Kill her,” Lynesse said, her sultry voice sharpening. “She defies you. Stick her fat ass on one of those poles outside.”

“You made a promise,” Doreah repeated, looking up at me. “On your honor. You repeated it when you gave me this collar. You want to fuck me in turns with her, you want me to watch you fuck her, you want her to watch me fuck you, that’s one thing. But I won’t fuck her, or kiss her, or suck her tits.”

“You’ll let a slave dictate to you?” Lynesse demanded, now nearly shrieking. She did not wish any contact with Doreah, but saw an opportunity to at least shame if not eliminate a hated rival. “She’s just sentenced herself to death. If you let her live, you name yourself a weakling.”

“She’s right,” I said. “I gave her those rights. But not complete freedom. Doreah, slap Lynesse.”

She did so, with a wide smile.

“You’re also my slave,” I told Lynesse. “And you don’t dictate to me.”

I pressed her back onto the couch, and took her twice while Doreah watched. The Lysene whore stood over my shoulder and smiled again at Lynesse, giving her a mocking wave with just her fingers while I thrust into Lynesse. Doreah still hated me, but enjoyed her rival’s humiliation. I found myself highly aroused, and took Lynesse a third time after Doreah had left.

* * *

Since I would be leaving the city administration in the hands of Skahaz, I decided to bring Kainaz from Astapor to serve as military governor. I flew there on Rhaegal and spoke at length with her new second-in-command, the older Dothraki warrior named Villo who had served as a steward of the dosh khaleen.

“I did not know that you had joined us,” I said. “It pleases me to see you here.”

“It would please me more to ride with you,” he said, as we dined with Kainaz on one of the rooftop terraces. “But you demand reports and someone has to write them. I foolishly told Ko Motho that I could do so. Jorah the Andal sent me here on orders of your general, Lodovico, to assist the Sister Kainaz. And so have I done.”

“I have greater need of you here,” I said. “Kainaz will command from Meereen, and I trust you to see my will done here.”

“Does Ko Zekko know this?” he named the commander of the Dothraki khas patrolling nearby.

“He will,” I said. “And he will know that you represent my will.”

I knew that I took a chance leaving a Dothraki in charge, but Kainaz thought very highly of him as did Mormont. And there would be two khaleen in Astapor as well.

“You understand that the ways of the Lamb Men are strange?” I asked.

“No need to simplify things, my khal,” Villo said. “I understand your will, and I’ll have the flag system to ask questions of the Sister Kainaz. We are to build this city in a new manner without slavery, where trade moves again and the people are happy to support your rule. I know that Dothraki can act like children, but don’t be fooled. We are the same as other men: some vain, some stupid, some noble, some clever.”

“And which are you?”

“That most unhappy of men,” he sighed. “A curious Dothraki.”

* * *

I took Kainaz in flight as I had Calye; she found the flight itself somewhat frightening but enjoyed the thrill of mid-air sexual congress. On my return to Meereen I saw off Daenerys and her small entourage, and then plunged into the hard work of re-organizing the army for the coming campaign. Rhaegal proved indispensable, quickly moving me from the top of the pyramid to various camps and training sites.

With Drogon helping my princess commit larceny, I used Rhaegal against the walls of Tolos as I had told my generals. When Selmy reported the siege under way, I flew to the site with Rastifa and inspected the works. As I had expected, I found all in good professional order. Pioneers had already begun digging a wide trench to bring a dragon within range of the main gate, and when it was complete, I walked with Rhaegal to his firing position. He eagerly bathed the parapets and the gates with fire, happy to please me and to hear the shouts and cheers of our soldiers.

I patted Rhaegal’s neck while I stood with Selmy and Rastifa, waiting for the smoke and flame to clear. The tops of the walls had been thoroughly scorched and we could clearly hear screams from behind them. But the iron gates still stood, though they’d been warped by the heat. I detected the thoughts of soldiers behind the gates trying to pry them open to send someone out to parley.

Eventually they created enough space for a single man to squeeze through. He came out waving a white cloth, which I had not seen done in these lands before.

“I’m First Magister of Tolos,” he began. “Come to seek terms.”

“No, you’re not,” I answered. “You’re a gatekeeper, dressed in the First Magister’s robes in case I decide to kill you.”

“Can I at least have terms?”

“Unconditional surrender,” I said. “The First Magister’s life is forfeit for this lie. I’ll grant pardons for others at my discretion.”

I had thought to burn the magisters, but unlike Drogon, Rhaegal disliked executing humans. He had not liked incinerating the foolish magisters of Pentos and I ended up having their counterparts of Tolos impaled and all of the garrison’s officers beheaded. The common soldiers were impressed into our army and sent to Meereen to be incorporated into the regiments there. I gave the gatekeeper a sack of gold and sent him to Astapor with his family and a new identity.

* * *

Mantarys surrendered without fighting. I allowed the city leaders to go into exile and incorporated their troops into my army. I summoned Plumm from Yunkai to establish garrisons and military governments in both cities. I was eager to see our regiments on their way, and three days after Mantarys surrendered Ko Aggo’s khas began to move north-west to start our march.

I took six infantry divisions, all fully armed and equipped, and two Dothraki khas. Along with the Companions that made for 120,000 men. We moved in three columns, the infantry on the left and the two Dothraki formations farther out in the southern fringes of the Great Grass Sea. Behind us we left wooden telegraph stations stretching back to Meereen with crews of workers already replacing the first few with sturdy stone towers like those of the other telegraph lines.

Six days after our infantry columns moved out, the telegraph brought word from Daenerys that she had been successful in Yi Ti and would now return to Meereen. I left Rastifa and Selmy to oversee the march; Ser Barristan served Daenerys out of obligation but he had developed a genuine liking and respect for my Second Empress, and often sparred with her in the mornings. I flew back to Meereen on Rhaegal in time to meet my princess as she landed.

“My chieftain!” she shouted with a squeal, and ran to leap into my arms. I caught her up and kissed her, not caring who saw. “I’ve missed you!”

“And I you,” I said. “All went well?”

“It was frightening at first,” she said. “But once we flew over the plantations by day, Drogon remembered the sites and took us back in darkness. My children are so clever. We all helped the gardeners dig up the plants they wanted, even me. General Lodovico was right. No one even knew we were there.”

I silently called for Rhaegal, and swept my princess up to the top of the Great Pyramid. We dined in the gardens, and then made love under the stars.

* * *

Using the dragons, I returned to Meereen periodically to check on the training and equipment of what I now called our Second Army, and made sure that Skahaz and Grazhdan had not made off with the pyramids themselves. Kainaz kept them well under control, as did Kinvara and the Green Grace, Galazza Galare.

Kinvara asked to be present when we met the Volantenes in battle; I told her that I had no intention of attacking the huge city of Volantis.

“They have detected your advance,” she told me. “And will bar your way to Selhorys. The Lord of Light has shown me this.”

Perhaps a quarter of my soldiers, not counting the Dothraki or Hyrkoon, had adopted her religion. It featured a fire god opposed in an endless struggle by an ice god; I vaguely recalled an ancient religion of my own world called Zoroastrianism with similar beliefs. I also recalled that this faith had ultimately lost its struggles against Christianity and Islam.

She believed that she had seen this enemy force within the flames of her sacred fires. I decided to bring her to the front; it could not hurt to have a god on our side. And the flight also allowed me to make love to her in mid-air, which I at least found exhilarating.

I did not, at the time, know that Kinvara’s detailed information regarding the treacherous she-demon Dejah Thoris would prove exactly accurate, but she had been helpful in turning the common people of the conquered lands to my cause. When we landed, I instructed Ko Qhono to broaden our long-range scouting efforts in the direction of Selhorys. He reported considerable military activity along the huge river Rhoyne connecting Volantis with Selhorys, but where this army might assemble, he could not say.

* * *

As Kinvara had foretold, the Volantene army had arrayed itself in front of Selhorys to offer battle with its back to the river. With a strongly-held bridgehead and a river fleet besides, they held a good position but I saw an opportunity to score a major victory and break their empire’s will to fight. We would deal with the enemy army first, and when it had been destroyed, we would use the dragons to destroy their river warships and then take the bridge in a night raid aided by the dragons.

All of the raiders who’d trained for the night flight were Dothraki; while the Companions now included some very good fighters from Qarth and Dragon’s Bay as well as my stout Hyrkoon, the Dothraki loved dragon flight and had no fear of mounting the beasts, night or day, in any weather conditions. The others would do so on my order, but without the enthusiasm of the wild horsemen.

I laid out my plan of battle for my generals and command staff. The Volantenes outnumbered us, with about 120,000 men compared to our 75,000 infantry, 10,000 regular cavalry and 20,000 Dothraki. Some of their troops were city militia, and others mercenaries of uncertain quality, but they had retained the services of the renowned Golden Company.

We would attack, with heavier weight on our right including the armored cavalry and heavy infantry. Selmy would command there, backed by Moro’s khas. Orange Cat would have charge of the center and Syrello the left. I planned to drive a wedge between the Volantene field army and the fortifications of Selhorys, and then roll up their left flank.

“My chieftain, dragons have not been seen on an Essosi battlefield in four hundred years,” Daenerys said. “Is this not the time?”

She quoted Tyrion, but perhaps she was right. Yet I was loath to risk her life in battle.

“I cannot rule if I take no risks,” she said, as though she were the mind-reader. “And the risk is quite small, as the enemy will be shocked to see dragons. They’ve heard of them, but that’s not the same as seeing them.”

Silently, Rastifa agreed.

“Very well,” I said. “You’ll wear a helmet, a mail shirt, breast and back plates, and gleaves. One pass and one pass only. You will ride Drogon, and Fogo Viserion. Target their left flank, on our right, where the Golden Company and its elephants are stationed. Try to strike the elephants. It doesn’t matter if you miss them, your objective is to sow panic in the ranks of these men who never panic.”

She was unlikely to draw any response on her first pass. I doubted that the Golden Company had any weapons that could be trained to loose at a fast-moving aerial target other than longbows. But those longbows could surely pluck my princess off of her dragon if she gave them another opportunity. She could only strike once, but that should be enough. If she disobeyed me and tried to wheel around for another pass, I could always counter-mand that order telepathically and Drogon would obey me.

“You’ll fly at dawn,” I said. “And come out of the lifting darkness. That will maximize terror and surprise.”

I looked to my generals.

“The army will make a general advance in the wake of the dragonfire,” I said, “but the strength of it will remain on our right. The armored cavalry will charge even as the flame is still falling, advancing with the river hard on their right. Ko Moro, I want your khas right behind them and on top of the Golden Men before they can recover their wits. Ser Barristan, I want the right-wing infantry advancing hard behind the Dothraki in turn.

“Gentlemen, ladies, our aim is to break the Golden Company and roll up the left wing of the Volantene army. I want them pushed away from Selhorys and unable to retreat.

“The Golden Company earned their reputation. If they choose to fight to the death, we’ll deploy the Unsullied to finish them. It’s my hope that it won’t come to that, but the fighting ends on our terms, not theirs.

* * *

As planned, the dragons heralded our advance with a single pass just as the first glimmerings of daylight appeared. They caught the Golden Company still moving from its bivouacs into formation, mostly missing the elephants. Daenerys actually did little damage, scorching ground held only by a handful of pickets and setting but two elephants alight, but Fogo burned a deep gouge through the assembling heavy infantry, incinerating hundreds of men and leaving a long, smoking furrow behind him.

The sudden attack by the heavy cavalry would not have succeeded without the chaos left in the dragons’ wake. I had to admire the mercenaries, who managed to form multiple squares even as hundreds of their fellows were ridden down first by the armored lancers and then the screaming Dothraki.

Selmy spotted the opportunity and urged all of his grenadier companies forward at double-time, to toss their deadly fruit into the squares before the longbowmen had good enough visibility to shoot them down. As the explosions ripped into the tight formations, the horsemen - men and animals trained to tolerate the sound and flash - pressed into the gaps provided and tore the squares apart.

As our own infantry approached, Moro sounded recall and our horsemen cleared out of the way for the crossbows and pikes to finish the job. The Golden Company reeled, exposing the enemy’s line of communications to Selhorys. Soon that road was blocked by one of Selmy’s divisions.

Two-thirds of the Volantene army had seen no action, and already they were defeated. Whoever commanded in the center knew his business, and refused his left flank to try to salvage his position. But by now our own center had reached their front lines and put pressure on them. The Volantene infantry began to buckle under the grenade shower, even as their own archers and crossbows took a toll of our grenadiers.

On our left, Jhaqo’s khas drove back the mercenary cavalry protecting the Volantene army’s right flank, making it impossible for them to withdraw southwards down the river. A signal flag from our own right demanded my personal attention, and I called Rastifa to my side before mounting Rhaegal.

“Alert Green Flea,” I told her. “When their center begins to waver, move the Unsullied forward. Only attack with them on my direct order. After they break the initial line, insert the Hyrkoon cavalry into the breach.”

“As you say, My Emperor,” she said, then appended, “my love.”

I smiled and kissed her, then went to where Rhaegal awaited behind our headquarters. A short flight brought me to where Selmy and Moro stood alongside a Dothraki energetically waving a red flag.

“Their commander would speak with you,” Moro said, indicating a fat man in gold-leafed armor. “He would not speak with any but you.”

I approached and drew Steel Flame, wary of parliamentarians bearing deadly gifts.

“State your business,” I said. “I have a war yet to win.”

“Harry Strickland,” he said. “Known as Homeless Harry.”

“I did not ask,” I said. “I told you to state your business. Don’t waste any more of my time.”

“The Golden Company has never surrendered in its history,” he said. “This comes hard for us.”

“That’s not my concern,” I said. “The terms are simple. Unconditional surrender. Your men will pile their weapons and armor and move at least two hundred yards from them. You and your command staff will become hostages, along with the prince you wish to put in my place.

“These are my generals, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ko Moro. Ser Barristan’s name defines the meaning of honor on two continents. Ko Moro is Dothraki. Meet my terms and Ser Barristan will oversee the capitulation. Fail to do so and I will send Ser Barristan away and leave the rest of this task to Ko Moro.”

“And if we can’t find the prince?”

He knew exactly where the prince stood at this moment.

“You have the prince at hand,” I said. “Turn him over immediately or I will instruct Ko Moro to execute all of your rank and file, and impale your officers.”

“I command over 25,000 men.”

This might have been true a few hours earlier, but certainly was no longer.

“Then we’ll need a very large fire to burn all of the corpses. We have dragons. It won’t be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Daenerys defies her chieftain.


	80. Chapter Fifty-Seven (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That rape/non-con warning up above? It's because of this chapter (intense, if I did it right, flashback).

Chapter Fifty-Seven (Dejah Thoris)

The sun had not yet risen, but the glimmers of dawn had appeared. I stepped forward to meet the Iron Born leader with Beth on my right and Ronis on my left. Lyra and Marsden re-ordered our fighters while Trisha saw the wounded removed to the rear. Two people walked forward from the ranks of the Iron Born, the woman who had called for a truce and what appeared to be an elderly man. They stopped a short distance from us and regarded each of us silently. Surprising me, it was Beth who broke the silence.

“Theon fucking Greyjoy. Do you remember me?”

“Little Beth Cassel. I murdered your father.”

“And you _raped_ me.”

I twined my fingers in hers before she could strike him dead.

“We grew up together,” she snarled. “We were children together, playing in the snow and taking our lessons from Maester Luwin. And you threw me to the ground of that same courtyard with a knife at my throat and rammed your cock into me while I screamed and begged you to stop. I was a virgin. Your men laughed at my maiden’s blood. Then they took their turns.”

He stared at the ground. I felt Ronis’ enraged thoughts turn to murder and touched his arm with two fingers of my sword-hand.

“My father taught you how to hold a sword,” Beth went on. “Jory taught you to use a bow. The Starks treated us both as their own.”

“We were never their own, I even less than you.”

“You put a noose around my neck and told my father you were going to hang me. Now I’m going to kill you.”

The woman motioned for Theon Greyjoy to be silent.

“I’m his sister, Asha Greyjoy. Queen of the Iron Islands, now in exile. Copper skin and a red sword would make you Dejah Thoris, who slew the Night’s King. I would have peace with you.”

“Beth Cassel is my sister,” I said, touching the Mormont bear on my chest and then the matching insignia on hers. “We are both adoptive daughters of House Mormont. Ronis Spidola is my first officer. You have brought war to the shores of our island, without provocation. This alone merits your death. Beyond that lie your brother’s crimes.”

“I would overcome these obstacles,” Asha said. “What would you have in exchange for peace? For the chance for my people to find a new home here, or sail away and do so elsewhere?”

“His life.”

“I can’t do that. For all he’s done, he’s still my brother.”

“You knew the price when you walked out here.”

“Truly, I did not,” she said. “I know what he did at Winterfell. It is our way. We reave. We rape.”

“And,” Ronis added, “you pay the iron price.”

I made a decision.

“Single combat,” I said. “My sister Beth against your brother Theon. If she falls, you may leave unmolested. If he falls, you and yours are mine to do with as I please.”

“He can’t fight,” Asha Greyjoy said. “Ramsay Bolton cut off most of his fingers. And other things.”

“He raped me,” Theon Greyjoy said. “And he made me his Reek.”

“He raped me as well,” Beth said. “After he found me in the Winterfell dungeon where you’d chained me. Chained me in my own _home_. When he was done with me, he sold me to Tyroshi slavers. And they raped me.”

I felt Ronis shift next to me, enraged to hear Beth say aloud what he had long suspected and eager to strike down Theon Greyjoy and slaughter the remaining Iron Born. I touched his arm again and he regained control of his emotions, though part of me wished to do the same.

“I will fight in his place,” Asha Greyjoy said. “If I fall, you may do as you will with him. If your sister dies, he lives.”

“No,” Theon said. “The princess loves Beth. You can see it. She wouldn’t let her fight you if she thought she would lose. Beth killed Qarl in less than a minute. She’ll kill you.”

“More than likely,” I said. “She is very good at killing people.”

Beth looked at me, surprised at my words.

“There will be no combat,” Theon said. “The man’s right. I have to pay the iron price. Beth may kill me however she wishes.”

“Hang him,” Beth said. “Pull him off his feet so he strangles slowly, like he meant to do to me.”

“That’s not what it means,” his sister said, “to pay the iron price.”

“I have to take responsibility for what I did,” Theon said. “I want her to kill me, Asha. I want to look into her eyes as I die and let her hate be the last thing I see before I wake in hell. It’s what I deserve.”

I saw this growing out of control. Theon Greyjoy’s wish to die for his crimes was sincere. His sister saw no way out of her trap. Ronis wished to massacre the Iron Born. And my former apprentice became steadily more consumed with rage and hate. I could not explain why but I knew that terrible things would happen to Beth’s mind if I let her kill this man.

Theon Greyjoy and his sister glared at one another. Beth ground her teeth; I peeked into her mind, and saw her reliving her many rapes. This had to end. I released Beth’s hand, raised my sword and ran Theon Greyjoy through his heart. He slid off the blade and silently fell to the ground.

Asha Greyjoy reached for the small axe in her belt. She was very fast, but I grasped her wrist before she could pull it free. I placed the point of my sword at the center of her leather-covered chest.

“You may have peace if you wish,” I said as she looked downward at her brother’s body. “Or you may die here with your brother.”

“There will be peace,” she said quietly.

“We will discuss its terms later. I must tend to my sister.”

I let go of her arm and wiped my sword on the cloth I kept tucked into the back of my leggings. Asha Greyjoy did not try to draw her weapon, but I removed it from her belt and cast it into the sea. I sheathed my sword.

“All of your people will disarm. Immediately.”

She told them to drop their weapons; reluctantly, they obeyed.

“On their knees, all of them.”

“You included,” Ronis added.

“You’re going to murder us.”

“We will bind you,” I said. “Or you may die. It matters little to me which you choose.”

“Bind them all firmly,” I told Ronis. “Including this woman. The ship will have rope. Strip them of their armor and clothing, and collect their weapons. Kill any who resist. Send a messenger to Maege.”

“What of their wounded?”

“Finish them.”

“Gladly.”

Beth had not moved.

“Sister.”

“Dejah, I . . .”

“I am with you. I will always be with you. It will be all right.”

I put my left arm behind her shoulders and right under her knees, and swept her into my arms. She flung her arms around my neck and cried softly as I carried her behind the Mormont lines.

Only a handful of Mormont fighters had been injured; they had been gathered on a small flat stretch of sand where our healer bound their wounds. I lay Beth next to the worst of them, a man with a deep gash in his side who shuddered and tried not to cry out as Melly sewed his wound closed, and I propped Beth’s head on a folded cloak. I knelt beside her, and Lyra joined us on her opposite side.

“Has she spoken?” Lyra asked.

“No, only a few murmured words.”

“What are her thoughts like?”

I paused, unsure what to say.

“This is an emergency. Your promise not to read them doesn’t apply.”

“It is not that,” I said. “I have been trying. It is simply difficult to describe. She is alert and understands us. But she keeps remembering Theon Greyjoy raping her, or playing with him when they were children, or other rapes. The physical pain and the shock of betrayal by her childhood friend. Wanting to kill him, to kill others, or to die herself because she thinks it is her fault. It is a mix of old memories and new fantasies, both fond and horrible, going by very rapidly.”

Lyra nodded.

“I understand.”

“Sweetling,” she said to Beth, stroking her hair. “You’re all right now. Your sisters are here and we won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Dejah,” Beth said. “You killed him.”

“I did not know what else to do. I feared for your sanity.”

“I . . . I don’t know what I wanted. I still don’t. I should have killed him myself.”

“I did not know what would happen to you,” I said. “You could only have killed him once, and that would not have been enough for what he did.”

“He was mine to kill, not yours.”

“Don’t be angry with Dejah,” Lyra said. “She loves you. We love you.”

Beth looked back at her.

“I’m sorry, Lyra. I know you love me. I just feel so worthless, that my friend, my brother almost, could use me. I even had a childhood crush on him!”

“I do love you,” I said. “Your pain hurts me. I do not fully understand what it is to be a woman of this world, even now. But I want you to be well, in mind as well as body.”

“That’s not going to be easy.” She sighed, and stroked my hand with hers. “Did he mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“He regretted what he did to me?”

“I think so,” I said, “but his mind had been broken. I cannot be sure he was sane enough to say he meant it as you intend the words. He was a man chased by many demons, and as best as I could pull from his mind, he had become both enraged and filled with self-hatred when Robb Stark refused his sexual advances. He wished to avenge himself on all that Robb Stark loved, meaning Winterfell and its people. Including you.

“I think he was sincere in saying he had not forgotten what he did to you. And he did wish to die, for those crimes and many others, but wishing for you to kill him was no favor to you.”

“Dejah’s right,” Lyra said. “It would have harmed you.”

“I’ve killed men. A few women, too.”

“But never one this personal.”

“No. Never one this personal.”

She sighed.

“I am very lucky.” 

That was not the reaction I had expected.

“You both love me,” she went on. “Tansy, Jory, Maege – you all love me. I look up to each of you so much. Even Jory. You know what I am, yet you love me.”

“Of course we do,” Lyra said. “You’re family.”

Beth stirred.

“I can stand now. Pull me up.”

Lyra hopped up, and I followed. We each extended a hand and brought Beth to her feet. The three of us then knelt again to comfort the wounded soldier, but Melly had sewn his wound closed and he had lost consciousness.

* * *

I did not know what to do with the Iron Born; had I not felt that Beth needed my attention I would have rejected their surrender and killed them all on the beach in my guilt-driven rage over Meg’s death. I left Lyra with Ronis and the Mormont fighters to watch over the prisoners and burn their dead, and walked back to Mormont Keep with Beth to report more fully to Maege and discuss the fate of the would-be raiders. Lyra asked that I carry the badly-injured Mormont fighter back to the Keep; Melly accompanied us in case his wound needed attention. I took off my surcoat, armor, gambeson and Mormont black tunic, and rolled up the sleeves of the lightweight linen shift I wore underneath. I had become very hot while fighting and needed to cool my body.

Beth carried my armor and clothing but said nothing as we walked; I wanted to say comforting things but could think of none. I instead turned to Melly.

“I know that Meg was your friend,” I said. “I am sorry for your loss. I should not have let her fight.”

“It’s what she wanted,” Melly said; from her thoughts I saw that they had been lovers as well as friends, something I had not known about them and should have. “She knew what could happen.”

We walked a while in silence, and Melly spoke up again.

“You’re a good woman, Princess. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true. You care about the people around you. All that caring’s going to break your heart. Next time it could be one of your sisters who takes a spear twixt her tits.”

“I know,” I said. “And it terrifies me.”

“Life’s terrifying. We’re all dying, just not as fast as Meg. Now put this man down and let me make sure he’s not the next.”

We stopped twice more to check on the wounded man; he was not conscious but appeared to be breathing normally. When we reached the small settlement several men and women rushed out to take him from me and Melly joined them to find a comfortable spot for his recovery.

The sun had risen, and as I approached the gates of the Keep I found myself happy to see my home again. Beth fell in beside me. I saw Jeyne come running out of the keep and through the open gate; I wondered why she was so eager to greet me. She reached me before I could probe her thoughts.

“You _bitch_!” she screamed in a shrill voice, and slapped me across the face. “You killed him! He saved my life, and you murdered him.”

Jeyne slapped me a second time while I stood still, unable to react. Beth punched her in the face and Jeyne fell into a heap at our feet, sobbing.

“Don’t lay a hand on the princess,” Beth said. “And don’t even think of defending Theon fucking Greyjoy. He raped me. He raped me in the cunt, he raped me in the ass, and he raped me in the mouth. He rammed his cock right through my maidenhead and laughed at the blood.”

Jeyne had risen to her knees.

“How can you side with her?” she shrieked, her voice nearly breaking. “We grew up with Theon. We’ve known him all of our lives. And that murdering _bitch_ killed him like he was nothing!”

“He was less than nothing!” Beth shouted back at her. “He raped me. He chained me. Ramsay raped me just as he did you, and it was Theon who left me for him, who left Palla for him. Theon who _watched_. It was Theon who murdered my father. It was Theon who killed Mikken the blacksmith who made dolls for us when we could first walk. It was because of Theon that Old Nan was sent to the Dreadfort to die. I was there, Jeyne. They starved that old woman who changed our diapers and loved us as babies, they let her starve and then they peeled off her skin. _They made me watch!_ And Theon was there serving wine to Ramsay the whole time!”

“He saved me!” Jeyne screamed again. “You were like a sister to me, our whole lives, and you choose her over me? You defend her? You’re as horrid as she is!”

Tansy had rushed up to join us and fell to her knees alongside Jeyne.

“What are you going to do now, Beth?” Jeyne ripped open the front of her dress. “Put that new sword through my heart? Do it, you evil bitch. Kill me. Kill me now and you can be just like your hero.”

I stood completely still, shocked and unable to speak.

“You think you’re the only one who knows about loss?” Jeyne went on. “The only one to scream while some fat fuck raped her in the ass and to weep when no one answered? The Lannisters murdered my father, too. I have scars across my back, too. Littlefinger made me a whore, made me suck his tiny cock and swallow. _You’ve done nothing that I haven’t._ Except murder people.”

Tansy had finally managed to wrap her arms around Jeyne and rocked her slowly back and forth, whispering into her hair. No one else had dared come close to us; a small crowd milled about uncertainly near the stable and watched cautiously.

“Sit,” Tansy said. We sat in front of Jeyne. She finally stopped sobbing and looked at each of us in turn. Her face was wet, and the whites of her eyes were covered in bright red veins.

“Will you take my head now?” she asked me.

“What?” was all I could ask, startled by the question.

“I struck you. You’re a princess. I’m a servant. By law that calls for my death.”

“I would never harm you, Jeyne,” I answered. “And I am sorry that I killed your friend. I only hoped to protect Beth from madness.”

“It’s true,” Beth said. “I was overwhelmed with hate, with rage, with shame. With every feeling possible, except for any of the good ones. Theon deserved to die. Even he said so.

“And I’m sorry I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, I asked for it,” Jeyne said. “You’re all I have left. I don’t really want to drive you away. Or have you stab me to death. And I’m sorry I called you an evil bitch.”

“I’m only an evil bitch on some days.”

Jeyne threw herself around Beth, and they hugged and cried. We all stood, and they went into the keep, their arms linked together.

“Are you alright?” Tansy asked me.

“She will never forgive me.”

“She will. Give her time. At least that’s the meaningless rubbish I’m supposed to tell you.”

“I thought I had done the right thing.”

“I’ve told you before,” Tansy said, “you can’t solve every problem by stabbing it.”

A society without telepathy worked so strangely. Nothing like this would have happened on Barsoom. Jeyne would have immediately known my motivations for killing Theon Greyjoy. But that was not all. Helium held to a class structure every bit as rigid as that of Westeros. At home, had a servant’s daughter dared to raise her hand to me, even one I called friend, I would have drawn my dagger and ended her life on the spot. It would have been expected, and had I not, my father or grandfather would have had the girl executed and then punished me for failing to kill her myself.

Now the very thought of harming Jeyne repulsed me. I now called a former prostitute sister. Just like an adventure story, she had revealed a noble origin which allowed our relationship to continue without crossing the sacred lines of class. But I knew that I would have continued to call Tansy sister had I never learned that her father had been a powerful lord here, and that I would never hurt my friend Jeyne for failing to treat me as a princess.

Sometimes I mourned the loss of the fantasy I had once been, the Incomparable Dejah Thoris of John Carter’s daydreams. And sometimes I did not.

* * *

I stood alone with my sister Tansy in the courtyard of Mormont Keep.

“What happened out there?” Tansy asked. “To Beth, I mean. I know you won the battle.”

“Theon Greyjoy, who was raised with her at Winterfell and later raped her, is brother to the Iron Born queen. I do not understand why he was raised at Winterfell; perhaps he was fostered there. For some reason he rejoined the Iron Born and served his sister. We held a parley with the two Greyjoys when the fighting paused. Beth became very angry and wished to kill Theon. And then her rage crowded out her other thoughts. I killed him myself before she could become consumed with madness.”

“I trust your judgment,” my sister said. “Maege needs to talk to you.”

I nodded. We walked into the keep and climbed up the stairs to Maege’s office on the top floor of the keep. It commanded a magnificent view of the cliffs, sea and harbor. Maege and Alysane awaited us, with hot tea and small cakes made of thin pastry coated in the insect vomit known as honey and stuffed with nuts.

“How is my niece?” she asked, voicing her foremost concern.

“I believe she will be well,” I said. “At least I hope she will be well.” I repeated what I had told Tansy.

“Celebration is in order otherwise?” our adoptive mother asked.

“I am not sure,” I said. “We defeated the Iron Born, and killed most of them with one dead of our own, a small number of injured, only one serious and unlikely to die of it.”

“Who did we lose?” Maege asked.

“Meg, the female Brotherhood fighter we brought from Winterfell. Speared in the heart; she died almost instantly. I should not have allowed her to take up arms.”

“It was her wish,” Maege said, echoing Melly’s words. “A fate she knew could find her.”

“I knew her unable to match strength with a man.”

“How did she die?”

“A red-haired woman slew her with her own spear.”

“You killed the woman who killed Meg?”

“Yes.”

“Dejah,” Maege said. “You were a princess before you became my daughter who is older than I. You know very well that we can do our best to protect and support those who follow us, but we can’t make their choices for them. Meg wanted to fight, and knew that she could die.”

I nodded.

“Her friend Melly told me this as well.”

“You said you killed most of them,” Alysane returned to the issue at hand. “Some escaped?”

“All who were not killed are prisoners,” I said. “They are under guard, bound by ropes and kneeling on the beach. Thirty men and eleven women.”

“Lyra has command on the beach?”

“Yes, with Ronis and Marsden to assist.”

“You burned the ships?”

“We captured them. We can burn them later if we wish.”

“Even better,” Maege said. “Now we have our warship. Where is Beth now? I saw the scuffle in the courtyard.”

“She is with Jeyne.”

“I think,” Tansy added, “that we should go to her as soon as we’re done here.”

“I agree,” Maege said. “Let us keep this brief, then. Why do you not believe celebration is in order?”

“I believed you wished that no Iron Born survive.”

“It would have made things easier, there’s no doubt. But I hesitate to slaughter without need.”

“Mother, if I may,” Alysane interrupted. “We can bring the prisoners here and Dejah can question them. Those she deems trustworthy, we can settle on the island, no two in the same village. The others will have to die.”

“Will you do this, Dejah?” Maege asked.

“I will.”

“Thank you. Now go tend to your sister.”

I quickly found Beth’s thoughts; she was alone, Jeyne having fallen asleep, and Beth had retreated to the balcony of her small room. We joined her there; I had taken the platter of honeyed cakes and Tansy had a pot of the very fine tea. I placed the cakes on a small table and we sat on either side of Beth on a long, broad seat facing the island’s gray mountains. She took Tansy’s hand, pointedly looking out at the rocky cliffs and not acknowledging me. Her feelings had hardened since leaving the courtyard.

“Don’t be angry with Dejah,” Tansy said. “She was trying to protect you from your own anger. I know how that feels.”

“Do you?” Beth answered in a bitter, disbelieving tone.

“Yes. Do you really need to hear the stories for me to prove it to you?”

“No. Bad enough for one of us to re-live it.”

“Oh, I re-live it every day. Just like you do.”

Beth finally reached forward and took a honeyed cake from the tray.

“I keep having to apologize to you,” she said to me. “I don’t know how I feel about Theon’s death, but I do know you were trying to help me. Thank you.”

“I told you, I will always be with you.”

“I know. Safe with you.”

“Safe with you, too.” 

* * *

Lyra brought the prisoners to Mormont Keep that afternoon. Each had been stripped to the waist, their hands tied to a stick that rested behind their neck. It looked most uncomfortable. Two were not so bound, and carried Meg’s body between them on a litter. The people in the keep looked at them but did not jeer. Lyra’s soldiers lined them up in the courtyard and forced them to their knees.

Alysane and I sat behind a table in the Keep’s great hall to interview the prisoners. Two soldiers brought the first of the Iron Born, Asha Greyjoy, and left her standing in front of us. Like her comrades she wore only leggings and boots, and her hands remained tied to the stick of wood behind her neck. She met our eyes, trying to look defiant but worrying that we would kill all of her remaining people. Alysane said nothing, allowing me to read Asha Greyjoy’s thoughts without distraction.

“If you wanted to see my tits,” Asha finally said. “You only had to ask.”

“I am indifferent,” I said. They were small and ill-shaped.

“If our places were reversed, I’d definitely want to see yours.”

“But they’re not,” Alysane said. “And we must decide your fate.”

“This is my sister,” I said. “Alysane Mormont.”

“We’ve met,” Asha said. “She protected me from Stannis’ red witch, who wanted to burn me.”

Melisandre, who had hoped to burn me as well, vilely invoking the memory of my beloved sister Kajas. The thought hardened my attitude.

“And you repay that kindness,” I asked Asha, “by bringing war to her home?”

“She’d told me how few fighters the island had left,” Asha said. “We needed food, a place to refit the ships, or possibly to hole up for Winter. Your little harbor seemed a safe enough target.”

Her words enraged me, and I considered simply killing her out of hand. Aly put her hand over mine and, somewhat calmed, I allowed Asha to continue speaking.

“When I left you,” Aly said, “you had perhaps twenty men and women.”

“Aye, you burned my ships,” Asha said to Aly. “After Tycho ransomed us, I went back to Sea Dragon Point. I knew more ships and men waited there.”

“Tycho’s here on the island,” Alysane said. “He chose better than you did.”

“If I were you, I’d kill us all,” Asha said. “I’m hoping for better than we deserve.”

“That depends,” I said, “on what we learn here.”

“You said we would have peace,” Asha said, looking at me. “And then you murdered my brother before my eyes.”

Her thoughts revealed this to be empty bluster. She was unsure how she felt about her brother’s death.

“You know what he was,” I said. “And you know why I had to kill him.”

“I would not have thought your sister so soft. She killed Qarl the Maid in single combat, fastest with a blade I’ve ever seen. Surely she can do her own killing.”

“What do you know of my sister?”

“That she’s almost as dangerous as you are. And what she and Theon said out there. That’s about all.”

“She grew up with Theon Greyjoy at Winterfell,” I said. “He spent far more of his childhood with her than with you. She was in some ways more his sister than you.”

“He’s not of her blood.”

“Neither am I, yet she is my sister.”

She considered that.

“So you’re saying he raped his sister.”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said. “Do you understand the horror she feels?”

Asha Greyjoy paused and thought on this as well. I admired her open mind.

“A little,” she allowed. “And for this I should forgive your murdering my brother?”

“Have you heard me ask for such?”

“No. And you understand that I loved my brother?”

“You knew my sister’s sword would find your heart,” I said. “Yet you would have fought in his place even knowing it meant your death.”

“I might have been lucky. I had to chance it.”

She paused, looking at me.

“Had I won you would have killed me.”

“I do not know that.”

“You would have run me through just like you did my brother, and probably just as easily, with just as little of an expression. I saw you cut Hagen’s daughter in half with a lunatic’s laugh and a single stroke. You four wild bitches killed half of my people by yourselves. But however much I hate you, I still have forty Iron Born to look after. Will you murder them as well?”

“If you reject our terms.”

She had not expected such bluntness.

“What are the terms?” she asked.

“They depend on the answers you have for my questions. Can I trust you?”

“What answer can I give?” she countered. “I wouldn’t trust me.”

She had no clear thought on what she wanted; part of her wanted to fight me, part wanted to protect her people, and part simply wished to die. Another part hoped to have sex with me.

“If I allow you to settle on this island,” I asked, “will you swear loyalty to the House Mormont?”

“Yes.”

I probed her mind as deeply as I could.

“And will you mean it?”

“Yes.”

She surprised herself with the ready answer; she thought she should hate me for killing her brother but found it difficult to summon much emotion over it. She had considered him already dead for a long time.

“A moment ago,” I said, “you wished me dead.”

“I did,” Asha said. “I have conflicted emotions where you’re concerned. You and I, we will either fuck or fight.”

“You would not survive either.”

“Either way, it would be a death worthy of song.”

“Your foremost wish is for your people’s safety.”

“It is, few as they are. Now tell me their fate.”

“My sister Alysane and I will question each of your people. If we feel they can be trusted, they will be allowed to settle on Bear Island. They will be placed in separate locations. Should they attempt to meet other Iron Born, or to leave the island, that will be considered an attempt at rebellion and they will be put to death on the spot.”

“You’d have us give up what it is to be Iron Born.”

“Would you rather die?”

“I would.”

She did not actually wish to die. She was not sure that she wished to live, either.

“Do you still wish to take the Seastone Chair?” Alysane asked. I determined from Asha’s thoughts that Aly referred to the throne of the Iron Islands, homeland of the Iron Born.

“I don’t know,” Asha said, truthfully. “I tried, and at least a thousand people followed me to their deaths. That’s beyond what your red-skinned ‘sister’ here and her she-demons killed this morning. The Drowned God seems to be making his will clear.”

“Your choice determines the fate of your last followers,” I said. “If you will not swear loyalty, I will run my sword through your heart without remorse. Alysane recalls her time with you on the mainland and would prefer I not do that, and that you become a useful part of our island’s people.”

“Can we at least fuck first?” she asked, hoping to buy time to resolve her indecision.

“No. Swear or die. Sex is not an option. Should you betray your oath I will kill not only you but all of your people.”

“You’d waste this?” she asked, looking down at her nude body.

“You are not attractive to me,” I said, truthfully. “And you have already said that you would swear.”

“You just want me on my knees,” Asha said, dropping to them and bending her head forward.

“I pledge my life and loyalty to House Mormont,” she said. “On your gods and mine I swear to obey all orders from its lady and her daughters, and all of its laws. From now until the moment of my death.”

She struggled to rise; one of the soldiers took her by the arm and helped her firmly to her feet.

“Unbind her,” I said. “Welcome.”

“Does this make me your sister?” she asked.

“No. You will now tell your people to do the same, or they will die.”

I looked at the soldiers.

“Take her to the other prisoners. If she says anything contrary to what she has promised, kill her immediately. Otherwise, take her to your barracks and assign her a place with the women soldiers.”

“Asha Greyjoy,” Alysane said. “You are now a warrior of House Mormont. May you serve with honor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris is called back to Winterfell.


	81. Chapter Fifty-Eight (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris sings, poorly, to the moon.

Chapter Fifty-Eight (Dejah Thoris)

We interviewed all forty of Asha Greyjoy’s former followers over the rest of the day. One had participated in the rape of Beth Cassel, and Alysane killed him herself with her dagger. We never told Beth of this. Another ten men and two women appeared eager to turn on us if freed, and Alysane instructed the soldiers to take them outside the keep’s walls and remove their heads. I disagreed with her order; a leader should do her own killing and not delegate this most solemn power, that of life and death. But I was not as close to Alysane as I was to our other sisters, and did not wish to contradict her in front of others.

That left nineteen men and eight women. Alysane assigned most to villages all over the island, no more than one per village. One man skilled at sail-making remained at Mormont Port to continue with his craft, and one woman who had already wished to desert the Iron Born joined the short-handed all-female crew of a fishing boat.

I regretted that we could not assimilate more of the Iron Born, to help recover some of the island’s lost population. Perhaps I had been wrong to attempt to kill all of the invaders. Alysane’s idea had been very good; I knew that the island would be well-led when she took over for Maege. The thought of Maege’s inevitable death, and that of all my sisters, saddened me. I loved my new family, and new home, and did not want to lose either.

“Too much thought isn’t healthy,” Alysane said. We sat on a bench outside the Keep’s main gate, looking out over the small town and the port. Some of the Mormont sailors were bringing the captured ships into the tiny harbor.

“You are wise.”

“Care to share?”

I had spent much less time with Alysane than with my other new sisters, but I knew her to hold great fondness for me. While I understood that she had calculated my value to House Mormont as a fighter and a symbol, I had no doubt that she would have welcomed me into her family regardless of that. I felt guilt that I had not been as close with her, and shame that it likely related to my prejudice toward attractive people. Tansy, Lyra, Jory and Beth were beautiful; Aly, as they all called her, was not.

“My people live a much longer span than yours,” I said. “I was considering that you will make a fine ruler when Maege passes on. Thinking of life here without her saddened me, as did the thought that, barring a sword through my breast, I will live to see all of you pass on.”

“You mean die.”

“Yes. I do not like to say the word aloud regarding my sisters.”

Her son and daughter spotted us, and ran to join us, leaping into our laps. Children still made me uneasy, but I had learned to smile at them and cuddle them when they wished for affection. I now did so with Alysane’s son Jeor, who had but two years. He giggled and kissed me on the cheek.

“You see?” his mother asked. “Don’t fret so much. We’ll always be with you.” 

* * *

The next day we gathered on the Keep’s training ground to give Meg a warrior’s funeral. Her body had been cleaned and dressed in a new set of black Mormont leggings and tunic, with a similarly new Mormont surcoat. The terrible wound in her chest remained hidden under her clothing, and her eyes had been closed. Her hands had been folded over her chest; Ronis told me that in the past the warrior’s sword had been laid in their hands but we could not spare any weapons.

All of the Guard stood in ranks around the funeral pyre, a stack of dry wood with resin-impregnated pieces inside to assure a powerful blaze. I held a torch and took my place at her head. All of the Mormont family stood behind me, as it fell to me to speak on Meg’s behalf as her commander. All of the Mormonts including myself, and all of the Guard, were dressed as Meg.

“Meg Rivers came to this island to defend a people not her own,” I began. “She had fought for justice as a warrior of the Brotherhood Without Banners, and hoped to see justice done here as well.”

As a princess of Helium, I had performed this task many times. Though my emotions roiled within me, my voice remained strong and steady. For that is what a princess does.

“All of us know that a commander can never order a soldier to risk his life, or her life. There is no such thing as risk. You can only order them to die. I ordered Meg to die, and she did so willingly, so that the rest of us might live.

“She was the smallest of us, but equaled any of us in courage. She did not hesitate to challenge the invaders. She did not serve House Mormont long, but she did so as the best example of a tradition that has lasted five hundred years.

“Like Meg, I chose to wear these colors. Like Meg, I will give my life to defend them.”

I thrust the torch into the pyre, and it quickly caught alight. Beth stepped past me to toss a small, symbolic stick onto the blaze.

“As will I,” she said. Lyra did so as well, with the same words, as did all of the Mormonts, followed by Ronis, Marsden, Melly, my steward and all of the soldiers. Last of all was Asha Greyjoy.

“As will I,” she said, tossing her own small stick into the fire. She resumed her place; I picked up a few stray thoughts objecting to her presence, but no one voiced them aloud.

Afterwards, following another Mormont tradition, we feasted in the Great Hall with music and copious amounts of ale. A warrior of Bear Island had joined the gods. I had no idea what gods, if any, she had followed. I should have.

* * *

“You sent her off well,” Ronis told me that evening, as we shared ale in my office; it was too late in the day for coffee. “We have some additional business to attend.”

“Of what sort?”

“Secret Man Stuff,” he said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal an axe-shaped brand mark. I realized that this was the male equivalent of my Shield Maiden marking. “First blood for two of the young ones plus three of the new men you brought from the mainland, first battle for the rest.”

“You’ll take all of the men?” I asked. “Not all of them fought.”

“That’s our way,” he said. “You get the mark after battle, if you fought or were held out by the commander’s order. You get blooded for actually fighting.”

“A Shield Maiden must have had a man and killed a man,” I said. “I suspect having a woman and killing a woman in some combination would also qualify her.”

“You’re surprised,” he smiled, “by separate standards for men and women?”

“No,” I shook my head. Maege had mentioned the sex requirement but on further thought I was not sure that she had been serious. She had definitely been clear that a Shield Maiden must have risked her life for House Mormont and killed in its name.

“Remember, this is a secret between us,” Ronis said. “Or the rituals lose their power.”

“I understand,” I said. “Take all of the men to your ritual site.”

“That leaves 33 women,” he said. “Which should be just enough, seeing how it includes you and your sisters, but we can call in a levy. I’m a little nervous myself after an attack like that one.”

“There were no other Iron Born ships,” I said. “But the people indeed remain nervous. We will call in a partial levy from several districts, so as not to take all of the fighters from one place.”

“You have your own Secret Girl Stuff,” he said. “You wish to go before or after us?”

“The details are not up to me,” I said. “But as you approached me first, you may conduct your ritual first. We will do so soon afterwards, so that the same levy is here in the Keep.”

The men left three days later, and we followed three days after that. Only one new Shield Maiden had earned her brand, a young woman named Tessa who had come north with the Brotherhood. I had not known her during our stay with the outlaw band; she had joined Gendry’s group during their march. She was tall but slender, plain-faced and often unexpressive, but seemed happy to receive her mark. She had fought well and killed two Iron Born men. As she had no close friends among the soldiers as yet, I named Beth as her sponsor.

We followed a new ritual afterwards, one at least new to me, and sang to the moon in honor of Meg. I would have preferred to hand her a shield.

* * *

The days had grown shorter, as these people said, meaning that each now had more hours of darkness than hours of daylight – the days themselves remained of the same length, 24 of the units known as “hours,” the same as Jasoom or Dirt and almost the same as Barsoom. The change apparently came much faster than had been known in the past, meaning that the planet had tilted at a very slow rate, and now did so at a pace similar to that of Jasoom.

When a day developed with bright sunshine and warm air, I knew this would be one of the last such for some time. After completing the Guard’s morning drills – I knew the importance of resuming training routines soon after battle – I sought out Tansy, finding her alone in Maege’s office compiling figures of some sort.

“What’s so important?” she asked, seeing my haste. “Do you need something from me?”

“Sex,” I said. “On the shore of the mountain lake.”

“You really need,” Tansy said, stacking her documents, “to just tell me what you want.”

“I thought that I did.”

“It was a jest. There’s nothing here Tycho can’t handle. Let’s get some bread and wine and a blanket.”

We hurried out of the Keep, not wanting to explain to our sisters why we went alone, and soon we rode through the forests and up the mountainside. I took my sword and a bear spear, and Ralf the dog followed us. I had never seen Ralf leave the Keep without Jory, but I knew that she liked us and felt a need to protect us from bears.

The warm sunshine continued, and we found no one by the lakeside – the people of the Keep and town rarely ventured into the island’s interior, preferring the lowlands and the rocky shores.

“What . . .” I started to ask as I slid off my mare, but Tansy grabbed my shoulders and kissed me before I could finish the thought. When she released me, I no longer recalled what that thought might have been.

We had brought a blanket, but left it rolled behind my saddle as we quickly removed our clothing and littered the grass with a brown dress, black leggings, a matching tunic and a gray garment known as a “shift.” When Tansy kissed me again I was ready, and pulled her close while I ran my tongue along hers. I felt the warmth of her body, and placed my hand between her breasts to feel her pulse.

“I like feeling your heart,” I whispered.

“It belongs to you,” she whispered back. “It’s never belonged to another.”

I placed her hand over my left breast, so she could feel my own heartbeat. I could not truly promise her my heart, not while my sister Thuvia lived somewhere in space and time, not while Kajas lived in my own heart, so I kissed her instead. I kissed the side of her face, the side of her neck, and then her left breast. I let my tongue linger on her nipple. It stiffened, and she moaned.

Dropping to my knees before her, I kept her upright with my hands on her lower back. As I had promised long ago, I extended my tongue and applied it as her thoughts directed. Soon she moaned much more loudly, and her fingers dug into my shoulders. I flicked my tongue across the nub where my fingers had given her pleasure, and deeper inside the cleft below it, where apparently the human tongue could not reach. Mine could.

My hands felt ripples pass through the muscles in her back, and her thoughts disappeared. She gasped as she received orgasm, and collapsed to her knees, her eyes shut. She opened them and looked into mine, and I could see clearly into her thoughts. She loved me with a fierce intensity I had never felt among my own people.

I pressed her down onto her back on the bed of small plants known as grass, and placed my leg across her waist. She took the nipple of my left breast into her mouth, playing her tongue and teeth roughly across it. Now I gasped, and stared into her blue eyes to enter her mind as my fingers entered her. Within moments I saw my own red eyes through hers, and her eyes, and mine again in an endless progression.

I rubbed my first finger along the nub inside her receptacle, and as she again received orgasm so did I, far more powerfully than I had in Winterfell. For some moments, I may have forgotten to breathe. My entire body seemed as though it were afire; I could feel the pleasure seeping down my shoulders, my back, peaking at my nipples and running down the back of my legs. I leaned forward to rest my head on Tansy’s right shoulder.

I had never felt such pleasure from sex, and never felt such a deep love for another person.

Eventually Tansy rolled onto her side and threw her leg across my body, propping herself on her elbow to look me in the eye and assume the position I had occupied a few moments before. That also brought her breasts directly in front of my face, and I slowly played with her left nipple, watching it stiffen. She had such lovely breasts that I could have happily done so for the rest of the day. But she wished to talk, though she did not stop my tongue or my fingers.

“I meant what I said,” she whispered, though no one else could possibly have heard. “I know you might still have a husband, and I know how you feel about Lyra. That doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“Lyra offered me sex,” I said. “I declined, because she did not really wish to. She only feared that you and I would become closer and leave her out. I do not wish to leave her out.”

“Me either. Do you think it possible?”

“It is for me. My people do not connect love and sex as yours do. Is it possible for you?”

“She’s my sister now,” Tansy said. “I don’t feel any differently toward her. But I’m not the one who had a crush on her.”

“I still find her desirable,” I said. “And become jealous at the thought of her receiving orgasm from a man. But I do not love you any less.”

“This is normal on your world?”

“To love more than one person? Yes.”

“I love our sisters,” Tansy said. “But you’ll always be my first sister. I hope that’s not wrong.”

She leaned down to kiss my left breast. It was my turn to moan.

“No,” I rasped. “It is not.” 

* * *

A few days afterwards Maege called all of her daughters to her private dining hall for Evening Meal. We were served the red-fleshed fish known as salmon, which I relished greatly, along with mushrooms, wine and a collection of vegetables. The opening of a wine cask indicated that Maege had something noteworthy on her mind.

We had been seated with Lyra at Maege’s left hand. I sat next to her with Beth on my right. Alysane, Tansy and Jory faced us. Lyanna sat at the end of the table, facing Maege. I had given this no thought, but now saw that Maege had arranged this deliberately.

“It is time for you to go, little one,” she told Lyanna. “I must speak of hard things with your sisters.”

“I ruled Bear Island in your stead,” the Little Bear said. “I’m old enough for hard things.”

“Aye,” said Maege. “But allow me the illusion that you retain your innocence.”

She stood and bowed to her mother.

“As you will. A good night to you, sisters. Princess. Lady Tanith. Cousin.”

Maege waited until the door had closed behind our youngest sister before speaking. I sipped my wine carefully, having learned how difficult and expensive it could be to transport the drink to the island. It was not equal to the fine vintages Sansa had served in Winterfell, but better than I had expected.

“Daughters,” Maege began. “You all know, even my new daughters, the pain of Dacey’s loss. Her murder. It’s time the Mormonts took their vengeance.”

She turned to look at our side of the table.

“I don’t suppose I have to ask you three,” she said to Lyra, Beth and I, then turned to her right to address my other sisters. “But I have to know that all three of you agree.”

They all nodded.

“Even you, Tansy?”

“They killed my niece,” Tansy said. “They murdered your daughter. Your heir. I trust you, and my sisters. If you want this to happen, I’ll do whatever you ask of me to make it so.”

“Thank you,” Maege said. “Planning and command will be in Dejah’s hands. Lyra and Beth will go with her. I think it best that the rest of you remain on Bear Island but will leave that decision up to Dejah.”

I looked across at Tansy.

“Do you want me with you?” she asked.

“I want you to be safe,” I said. “I would feel better were you to remain with Maege. Lyra and Beth will be with me.”

“I won’t be separated from my sister.”

“You will be with two of your sisters,” I said. “As will I. I do not intend to be away for long.”

“Take them,” Maege broke in. “Tansy and Jory. They want to be by your side.”

I nodded.

“Who else will go?” I asked.

“We now have 118 men and women in the House Guard,” Maege said. “You’ve trained them. Take them all. We’ll call in some levies to take their place here until your return.”

She paused.

“I know it’s not much. We went to war with near 300 House Guards, plus a thousand trained levies.”

We had captured Harrenhal with fewer and less capable fighters, but the garrison there had been very small and I did not think we would find the Freys busily having sex with one another all in one place where they could be easily killed.

“They will be enough,” I said. “From my officers I would leave Ronis to oversee the levies, with thirty soldiers to support the levies, and take Trisha and Marsden with me along the with remainder of the Guard. I would take Asha Greyjoy as well.”

“You don’t trust her out of your special sight?”

“That is correct.”

“That will sadden Lord Tycho,” Alysane said. “They have already resumed the . . . friendship they formed when we all accompanied Stannis.”

“Only parts of him,” I said. “And her. But it will give her a reason to return to Bear Island.”

“Ronis will be disappointed,” Maege said.

“We must not leave you undefended,” I said. “And that requires at least one professional officer and a core of professional soldiers. I am comfortable fighting with any of my officers, but I am most comfortable leaving Ronis to command here.”

“Let me command the levy,” Alysane said. “While you take everyone who’s fit to fight. When you gamble, don’t hedge.”

She spoke of a game strategy, where one counter-balanced a risk with other, safer bets. I found that I agreed.

“Very well,” I said. “I will take all of the Guard who are physically capable. At this moment that would be every man and woman except Kiefer, but he should be healed by the time we attack. How many will House Frey have?”

“They told King Robb they could raise four thousand swords,” Maege said. “That may have been true then; they added a great many weasel faces to our ranks. They lost many of those since in battle, to disease, to your sword. Most of the rest will have returned to their farms and minor holdfasts. I’d say no more than 500 fighters between the three castles, possibly far fewer.”

“That is not very precise.”

“We’re not a precise people,” Alysane answered me. “We usually charge into battle without much thought. I suppose that’s why so many die in war.”

“That is one reason,” I said. “I wish no unnecessary deaths among our people. Is there anyone on the island who has been to the Twins?”

“Several,” Alysane said. “I’ll give you a list.”

“I have seen the Twins at a distance,” I said. “We will need guile, but I believe we can capture either castle. The difficulty will be in capturing both.”

“We’ll have the raven,” Tansy said.

“That is true,” I said. I could see the castles from above, through his eyes. “I will not ask him to take great risks.”

“Thank you,” Tansy said.

“Do we need to take both castles?” Beth asked from beside me. “Or just the one with Lord Walder?”

“If I understand our adoptive mother’s wishes, we are going to the Twins to kill every Frey. Walder Frey most of all is our target, but also every man and woman and every child old enough to be aware of their family identity. They will all die.”

I had expected objections, or at least shock, from my new family. I saw none. My confusion was evident.

“There was a time,” Maege said, “when I believed that we could sort out the guilty and the innocent, those who planned or carried out the Red Wedding, and those who knew nothing. Time has only hardened my heart. Kill them all, the gods will know their own.”

Tansy nodded from across the table. I turned to my former apprentice.

“You are ready to kill a child?”

“Family or not, I’d follow you through all seven hells.”

She meant it. I touched her face briefly.

“I do not yet know how we will attack,” I told my family. “But I anticipate that we will need strong swimmers and climbing skills. We will begin training tomorrow.”

“When do you propose to attack?” Maege asked.

“As soon as we can be ready,” I said. “If Winter is indeed fierce and long, we will attack in the snows, preferably during a storm. Whatever the weather, Winter will come for House Frey.”

* * *

A raven from Winterfell arrived late that night and paused all planning for our castle onslaught. Maege came to our chambers immediately, and Tansy read the letter to me. A crisis faced the North and the Council of Regents needed my assistance; the letter gave little hint of the problem, but the Lords of the North seemed frightened.

“I will go of course,” I told Maege.

“Of course,” she said. “So will I.”

“I’m placing my money on a dragon,” said Tansy, who had paid far closer attention to the infrequent updates we received from Winterfell than had I. “You made it clear you’re not leading their armies or fighting their wars. This is something they can’t handle.”

“They didn’t ask us to levy troops,” Maege said. “You could be right.”

Beth awakened and joined us around the room’s large table; I noted that she had become comfortable emulating me, and wore nothing despite her scars.

“We’re going to Winterfell?”

“Yes,” Maege said. “They’re afraid. Fearful men do stupid things. They have great confidence in Dejah, and just her showing up will calm them. You and Lyra will go with her, Jory if she insists. I’ll go as well.”

“So will I,” Tansy said.

“I didn’t think that needed mentioning,” Maege answered.

“I will take my steward,” I said, “and we should take Gendry.”

“Gendry?”

“He has skills working with fire and metal. If we are to face a dragon, I would like to have those close at hand.”

“You would put him at risk?” she smiled.

“As you risk your daughters of choice.”

“Keep watch on him,” she told me. “No need to let some would-be kingmaker snatch him.” 

* * *

Our voyage to the mainland proceeded without drama, and my improvement at sea continued. Despite rougher seas than our last voyage, though not as rough as our first, I vomited less often and actually enjoyed parts of the trip. Jory insisted on keeping me tied to the mast when I went on deck. The seasons had definitely begun to shift; I wondered how long the coming winter might last and if I would be around to see it.

Lord Glover had already departed Deepwood Motte for Winterfell when we arrived at his wooden castle. His brother could tell us little of the crisis; only that Galbart had rushed away as soon as Ser Davos had called for him. That had worried his wife enough that she was extremely courteous to all of us, including Maege, Lyra and Jory.

As we rode into Winterfell I saw that repair work had made good progress. Davos Seaworth met us in the courtyard with his plump wife, a tall youth and two smaller boys I understood to be his sons along with Samwell Tarly, who still dressed in his Night’s Watch blacks.

“You have dragon problems?” Tansy asked after we exchanged greetings.

Samwell turned red. He often turned red.

“Um, yes. We should discuss this inside.”

Tansy had brought along a large, heavy package that I assumed included some of the books from Castle Black. I could not yet read them easily, and decided she would tell me what they contained when the time was right.

We followed him inside the castle’s Great Hall, to a smaller side room. Servants had rushed off to summon the Lords of the North, who arrived one by one. Some of them I knew well: Howland Reed and Galbart Glover. I had met Jonelle Cerwyn, but knew her less well. Lady Barbrey Dustin was new to me.

Lady Jonelle greeted me warmly; Lady Barbrey did not. She was of middle age, with stocky legs, curly brown hair streaked with gray, a full bosom and a sour expression. I could not determine why, but she disliked both Tansy and me with a surprising intensity.

She frowned at Tansy and Gendry as they took seats to either side of me, thinking of them as my “bastard sidekicks,” but said nothing aloud. Trisha, Lyra, Beth and Jory remained in the Great Hall to speak with Gilly, Samwell’s wife.

“Ser Wylis Manderly is on his way from White Harbor,” Ser Davos said, after introducing all present. “Tormund Giantsbane of the Free Folk, who rejects all titles, should be here soon as well.”

“So you believe a dragon threatens the North?” Tansy cut to the heart of things.

“It’s not just a belief,” Samwell said. “We’ve received a demand to acknowledge Daenerys Targaryen as Queen of Westeros. It came under the signature of Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen. If we refuse, he says she will burn Winterfell and all of your castles with dragonfire.”

Would Bear Island be safe from this woman’s dragon?

“And by all she means all?” Tansy asked.

Lady Barbrey’s thoughts did not approve of the “bastard whore” asking questions. I did not like this woman. She looked like she spent her days sucking on lemons, a tart yellow fruit used for flavoring.

“That’s how we interpret it,” said Lord Glover as he handed a written scroll to Tansy. She took it and read it. That made Lady Barbrey even angrier.

“Sister?” I asked.

“I agree with Lord Glover. It’s a far-reaching threat. She’s doesn’t just want submission. She wants all the Starks turned over to her for punishment. She’s essentially threatening mass murder if she doesn’t get her way.”

“She would do this?” I asked again.

“We know she killed Jaime Lannister with her dragon,” Lord Glover answered, “and did not shy away from burning thousands of innocent people in King’s Landing to get at him, and still more after ravaging the Red Keep. She’s not due here for another moon’s turn or so. We assume she’s made similar demands on the Great Houses of the South and has flown there first to enforce them.”

“How do you know what happened to the Kingslayer?” Tansy asked.

“We have several merchant houses from the North with operations in King’s Landing, my lady,” Lord Glover said, enjoying the effect of the courtesy on the lemon-sucking Lady Barbrey. “They send us reports. We’re convinced they’re reliable.”

“So she flew into King’s Landing on a dragon one day out of the blue?” Tansy asked. “No army, no companions?”

“Yes.”

“And melted the Kingslayer?”

“She demanded that he appear outside the walls,” Galbart Glover said, “and began melting the Red Keep when he did not.”

“He’s known to be dead?”

“Yes, along with most of his officials and a great many bystanders. It’s said that she punished whole districts with dragonfire, slaughtering the smallfolk by the thousand.”

I hoped that Carl the kind stable-owner and the Mighty Pig had survived; sparing the knight’s life had been one of my few moments of honor on this planet, even if I did not do so for honorable reasons. I picked up the questioning.

“And then she just flew away?”

“Yes,” Lord Glover said, “after sending the raven with these demands to us, and we assume similar missives to other houses. Leaving anarchy behind her. Many more people have died in the aftermath.”

I nodded.

“So there is good reason,” I said, “not to acknowledge her as queen?”

“Daenerys Targaryen is apparently as murderously insane as her father,” Howland Reed now answered. “And she couples her madness with dragons. The very notion of flying here alone is beyond reason. If she feels at all threatened, what recourse does she have but to deploy her dragon?

“As you and I discussed some time ago,” he went on, further angering Lady Barbrey, “we’ve stayed out of the game of thrones since you brought down the Wall. And the North has done well on its own: trade recovers and settlers are entering the empty lands. We would be better off without the rest of the kingdoms. And of course we have no Starks to give to her.”

The swamp lord told the story of Sansa Stark’s grandfather and uncle, who went to King’s Landing to see Daenerys’ father – why they did so was not clear to me, but they apparently were quite wroth over some slight. The king burned at least one of them to death for his amusement, and had apparently wanted to set the entire city alight. He failed to carry out his plan because the Kingslayer slew him.

“So even if we yield,” Jonelle Cerwyn spoke for the first time, “we may burn?”

“That’s my belief,” Howland Reed said. “I believe Lord Glover concurs.”

Galbart Glover nodded, as did Maege and Ser Davos.

“And you have summoned me,” I said, “to kill this beast?”

“Who else?” offered Lady Dustin. “You supposedly killed the Night’s King.”

“I have supposedly killed many people. I supposedly may not be done. I supposedly am very good at killing people.”

“Like you murdered my brothers.”

“You are a Ryswell by birth,” I spoke my realization aloud. “It was war, and your House chose to betray its sacred oaths to side with the Boltons against the North. Your brothers accepted our challenge for dual combat with myself and my friend Trisha. We each killed one of them. The one I killed died on his knees.”

He was on his knees because I had rammed my own knee into his unprotected sex organs, but I allowed those who heard me to interpret it as an accusation of cowardice.

“Princess, Lady Dustin regrets her rudeness,” Howland Reed hastily interjected before more could be said. “All the people of Westeros are in your debt. Especially the North.”

“And now you wish me to kill your dragon.”

“Yes.”

“And its insane rider as well?” I asked. “I am asked to kill Daenerys Targaryen?”

The lords and ladies suddenly found the table, the ceiling and the newly-painted walls extremely interesting.

“Yes,” Maege finally said. “Put her down like a mad dog.”

No one objected. I sighed, very much like a spoiled princess.

“I have told all of you that I have no wish to play your game of thrones.”

“That dragon,” Lady Barbrey retorted, “will burn your little fantasy island with your so-called ‘sisters’ just like any of our castles.”

I sighed again.

“Your peasant discourtesy does not make you incorrect, Lady Barbrey.”

She made to protest but I cut her off.

“Be silent,” I told her. “The adults are speaking.”

She stared at me with wide eyes and round open mouth, much like a startled fish. She could not craft a response. Behind her where Lady Barbrey could not see, Lady Jonelle smiled slightly and nodded to me.

“What do you know about dragons?” I asked Samwell

“A little,” he said. “The library at Castle Black had many texts not even the Citadel possesses, but unfortunately those are lost forever.”

“You mean like these?” Tansy asked, lifting her package of books onto the wide table and unwrapping the volumes.

“How did you . . .”

“We looted Castle Black,” I said. The lords and ladies stared at me. “Is there a problem? It was home only to the dead. Their watch had ended.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris hatches a plan.


	82. Chapter Fifty-Nine (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris discovers oatmeal cookies.

Chapter Fifty-Nine (Dejah Thoris)

As we left the hall, Lady Jonelle walked out slowly so she could speak with us.

“Princess, could I ask you to sup with me?” she asked as I stood with Maege and Tansy. “All three of you, of course.”

“Could my friend Gilly come?” I asked. “I have not had a chance to see her.”

“The maester’s Wildling wife?” Lady Jonelle smiled. “Lady Barbrey would be scandalized. So she’s certainly most welcome.”

Tansy went to collect Gilly while Maege and I walked with Lady Jonelle to her chambers. A lady in waiting from House Cerwyn walked behind us.

“Lady Mormont,” Jonelle began. “I must apologize for what happened, or almost happened, when you were a guest under my roof. Ser Kyle told . . .”

“Nothing happened under your roof,” Maege interrupted her, “except a pleasant dinner. That’s how my daughter Dejah and I recall our visit to your lovely castle.”

Tansy and Gilly joined us just as we entered the room. Lady Jonelle’s servants had already spread a table for three, and worked to add two more places.

We engaged in small talk over the soup, and it pleased me that Lady Jonelle made a point of including Gilly in the conversation. I sat next to my friend, and she smiled at me when no one else saw.

“Now, you’ll wonder why I invited you,” Lady Jonelle began as the main course was served, a whole roasted pig. “Or perhaps not, it may be obvious.

“House Mormont is ruled by women, and as far as I can tell, very successfully so. I never expected to rule House Cerwyn, but my father died in Lannister captivity after he was wounded in battle, and my brother died when Ramsay Bolton betrayed Ser Rodrik Cassel during the battle at Winterfell.”

“My sister Beth’s father?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “A fine man; Cley, my brother, respected him greatly.”

She sipped her wine, and continued.

“I didn’t know what to do. I had Ser Kyle to lead our troops, what was left of them, but no one wise in the deadly politics of the North. So I swore to the Lannisters, and I swore to the Boltons. And then I swore to Stannis Baratheon. I only wanted peace for our lands, and for the North as a whole.”

Maege caught my eye and I nodded; Jonelle Cerwyn spoke the truth though she exaggerated her understanding of politics. She had simply followed what seemed to be the more powerful faction at the moment.

“And you seek our assistance?”

“Look at me,” Lady Jonelle said, indicating her face and figure. “No man wants this for anything but the wealth and power that comes with it. I can’t trust any marriage offer. So how does a house ruled by women make its way in this world?”

“I have seven daughters,” Maege said, “Six of them grown, all of them very capable. And we come from an island where women and men have worked together for centuries. You can’t create that overnight for House Cerwyn.”

“You and your daughters are beautiful,” Lady Jonelle countered. “You could have easily relied on marriage pacts. You did not.”

“Do you have any capable advisors?” I asked.

“You know Ser Kyle,” Lady Jonelle replied. “A good man and my father’s trusted military commander. Beyond him, I lack even a house maester; ours was summoned to Winterfell by Ramsay Bolton and murdered there. I stand alone, and I was never taught to lead.”

“Does it always have to be high born?” Gilly interjected unexpectedly, then blushed and looked down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoke.”

“If I didn’t want advice,” Lady Jonelle said, “I wouldn’t have asked you here. Do go on, dear.”

“Well it just seems,” Gilly said, haltingly, “like there’s plenty of smart people, they just isn’t lords and ladies. Maybe you could adopt one, like Lady Maege did Tansy.”

“Forego marriage and adopt an heir?”

“What does that mean?” Gilly asked.

“To not marry,” Jonelle explained, “and select a child. Perhaps an orphan. An orphan with no family ties.”

She pondered this, tapping her fork on her plate.

“That would do away with the fortune hunters,” Jonelle mused. “Lady Gilly, I do thank you.”

“Just Gilly,” Gilly said. “Sam’s wife.”

“Lady Maege,” Jonelle turned to my adoptive mother, “I have made so many mistakes. I would ask that you allow me to write to you for advice, and ally my house to yours in political matters.”

“Of course,” Maege said. “Our houses have stood together for hundreds of years. We won’t let the Boltons ruin that.”

“It’s rumored,” Jonelle said, “that someone took the Bolton gold and burned the Dreadfort.”

“I had heard that as well,” Maege said. “I hope they stayed long enough to pull down its stones.” 

* * *

Though I dreaded the arrival of the dragon, re-uniting with Gilly delighted me. A stable marriage and family life had made her a far more outgoing and happy woman than the one we had left only months before. She held my hand as we walked to the Maester’s Tower to meet with her husband.

“Tormund’s folk,” she said, “they wasn’t so bad. There’s not but one or two other little ones made the trek from the Wall, and they was all happy to see another. Val hates me, still hates you and Trisha too, but she didn’t give no trouble.”

“They have built their own town?”

“It’s not big, but it’s a lovely spot. They’s got crops planted, fencing for sheep, and they was repairing the little castle. I wouldn’t mind living there, not at all, wasn’t for Val being there.”

“She was cruel to you?”

“No, she didn’t speak to me none. She was right kind to Sam and Little Sam, and Toregg he just loves on her.”

We had reached the top of the tower. Gilly stood on her toes to kiss my cheek.

“You fixed things. You really is a princess.”

Jory sat within the maester’s office chatting with Samwell, having brought Tansy’s stack of books. Tansy joined Samwell at his desk, while Jory, Gilly and I sat nestled together against the wall to listen; my lack of reading fluency in their language limited me to asking questions. I silently cursed myself for not having applied my mind more intensively to learning their letters. But Marya Seaworth, the Onion Knight’s wonderful wife, brought us a wide platter of small pastries she called “oatmeal cookies” and I felt much better. They were thick and warm and smelled like a happy childhood.

Samwell and Tansy explained that dragons were by no means mythical beasts: the last of them in Westeros had died out almost within living memory, though in the final generations they had become small and stunted. The Targaryen family had conquered Westeros using the dragons as decisive, unstoppable weapons: they could breathe fire and they could fly. They apparently needed a rider to be wielded as a weapon, and such riders seemed to be difficult to find and train. Or maybe it was the dragon that was difficult to train.

They were almost invincible – almost. Dragons had been killed in battle, usually by other dragons. At least one dragon could be verified as falling to a man; a wood-cutter slew a dragon with multiple blows of his axe to its head. A few others had been killed when a horde of angry people swarmed over them while they were chained in a pen. Tales of other brave warriors slaying dragons existed but might have been pure myth.

So they could be killed, and seemed to be vulnerable about their head. I could probably kill one with my sword – if it would let me climb on top of its head. This did not seem likely.

“Dejah,” Tansy said thoughtfully, “when you rescued me from the pirates, they had a machine that shot giant arrows.”

“Yes,” I said. “They were iron arrows.”

“A ballista,” Samwell said. “That’s what they’re called. We had them at the Wall, too.”

“What about shooting the dragon with a giant arrow?” Tansy asked. “From a ballista?”

“You’d only get one shot,” Samwell said. “It’s not like the adventure stories. A crew of three or four men needs minutes to crank the tension back into the springs; one man alone lacks the strength. Miss the dragon, or hit it and fail to kill it with the first shot, and it’ll incinerate the machine and its crew long before they can loose another bolt.”

“No crew will stand their ground,” I said. “Nor could they hit a flying target. You would have to somehow ambush the beast. The machine would be deadly against a dragon that was already frozen in place.”

As a young gunnery officer aboard _Battleship Number 34_ , I had computed firing solutions against flying targets. These were impossible without a mechanical aid, even for a genetically selected mind such as mine. Though the calculations were simpler when the firing battery stood on solid ground, they remained well beyond these people even given an endless amount of time rather than fractions of a second. They could at best aim at a point where they guessed that the target would be when the projectile arrived, and hope that they met.

Tansy looked at me; I did not need to read her thoughts to understand. I could probably operate the crank of a ballista by myself. But I lacked experience with the machine, and even I would have difficulty hitting a target. Only in poorly-plotted fantasy stories written by drunken buffoons can one simply pick up a strange weapon and use it like an expert.

I brought a cookie up to my face for another bite, then stopped and looked at it.

“What do dragons eat?” I asked Samwell.

“They’re said to eat meat, sometimes whole cows and horses. They roast them first with their fiery breath and then swallow them whole. So it was said of dragons of old, anyway. One of Lord Glover’s informants does mention reports of cattle burned by dragonfire, so it’s probably true for this dragon as well.”

“Do they eat people?” Jory asked.

“That’s a traditional fear, but from what I’ve read so far it seems mostly mythical. They prefer livestock.”

Tansy nodded in agreement.

“Are you planning to poison the dragon?” Samwell asked.

“We don’t know enough about their . . .” they had no word for _physiology_ and I floundered for one. “Their nature. How their bodies work. What poisons us may not poison them. I have an idea. But I need to know more.”

I had done many things here with my sword: I had rescued my sister, ended the Holy Hundred and killed the Night’s King to bring this world back into natural balance. Though I knew them to simply be unusual, if powerful, life forms, the people around me believed these dragons to be living embodiments of magic. They could only be destroyed by magic. And so I would deploy some magic of my own: the science of Barsoom. Some very old science, pitted against some very old magic.

In no way did I wish to become some goddess from the stars, bringing advanced knowledge to a backward people and lifting them into a new future. I had taught the people of Bear Island how to use water to power their weaving machines, and shown them some principles of basic sanitation. Fearing that Lyra might someday carry a child, I showed Melly how to sanitize cloth and instruments, and taught her distillation; I knew that soon the islanders would be drinking the output. This knowledge I passed along as much for my own comfort as theirs, and more advanced regions of this planet surely already knew these techniques.

Just as magic always has a price, so do gifts of the star goddess contain their own poison within: as you uplift, so do you hand over new ways to destroy. I was about to introduce these warlike and at times bloodthirsty people to an even more efficient way to kill one another. They would, without doubt, commit even greater mass murder once they had mastered the use of explosives. I had no right to make that decision for them. But I would do so anyway. 

* * *

Jory and I left the Maester’s Tower on the following afternoon for a ride around Winterfell with Meera Reed, who had forged a friendship with Jory; I had much to think about and looked forward to spending a little time with my mare and my little sister. The Onion Knight and Lyra called to us as we returned to the stables; they stood in the small area used for archery practice and had apparently been loosing arrows.

“Princess,” Ser Davos began, “Lady Lyra tells me you’ve practiced with the bow.”

“I have,” I said. “But only a little. When we visited Winterfell, the Mormont soldiers allowed me to try theirs. Lyra has been teaching me since then.”

“I recalled something I’d found in the armory. Have a look.”

He handed me an unstrung bow, far larger than those I had seen before. It was carved of golden-yellow wood, with no curve in it when not strung, and almost exactly as long as I am tall.

“I doubt any man here could use this,” he said. “But perhaps you might give it a try.”

I shrugged off my sword-belt and handed it to Jory, then stepped across the bow and strung it. The bow had a great deal of resistance; I could not have strung it without my enhanced strength. I pulled gently on the string to test the bow’s flexibility; the wood did not seem to be too badly dried out.

“Do you have arrows for it?”

“It came with several quivers,” he said, handing me an arrow almost as long as the bow. “I don’t know that the fletcher here can make more of them easily, though. But you won’t need more than a few.”

He intended for me to shoot Daenerys Targaryen off the back of her dragon using this bow.

“You wish for me to kill Daenerys with this arrow?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“I doubt that I have the skill, but let me loose some arrows.”

“Wait,” Lyra said, handing me one of the padded tunics normally worn under ringed armor. “Your breast will thank me.”

I looked down at my breasts, taking the right one in my hand. I could see that the bowstring of such a large bow might well strike it and prove painful. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Davos Seaworth blushing. I handed him the bow and pulled the tunic over my head.

He returned the bow when I was ready, and I nocked an arrow. Lyra stood directly behind me and adjusted my form; I enjoyed the feel of her hands on my waist, even through the padded tunic. Due to the great length of the arrow I could not look along it as with the smaller bows I had used, and had to estimate where it might fly. When I thought I had it aligned with the target, known for some reason as a “butt,” I loosed the string. The arrow flew with great speed and rammed itself through one of the beams behind the target, missing by at least an arm’s span.

I looked down at my hands; the bowstring had cut into my fingers and now sported drops of blue blood.

“Use this,” Lyra said, fitting an oddly-shaped glove over my right hand with metal-reinforced pads over the fingertips.

My aim did not improve as I ran through the rest of the quiver; as with a ballista, this weapon would require far more practice than I could devote to it. I had disappointed Ser Davos, who believed me capable of anything.

“I am sorry,” I said. “This is a very difficult skill.”

“I’ve heard it takes a lifetime of training,” Lyra said, speaking the truth. “It was a good idea, to match Dejah’s strength and her eye with a weapon like this. But she doesn’t have years to practice before the dragon queen arrives.”

“Aye,” the Onion Knight agreed. “Seemed worth a try.”

He feared that I would not survive fighting the dragon with my sword; I shared this concern. 

* * *

His plan having failed thanks to my inability to use the giant bow with accuracy, Ser Davos called us together in his solar: myself, my sisters, Maege, Gendry and Lords Reed and Glover and Lady Cerwyn. He did not inform Lady Barbrey; the dragon’s approach laid enough stress on us all without her shrill idiocy.

“What sort of explosive substances,” I asked Samwell, “are known in these lands?”

“What do you mean?” he asked in return. “There are natural explosions, as in volcanoes. There’s wildfire. That’s what destroyed the Sept of Baelor.”

“Can you make wildfire?”

“No. There’s a special class of magicians, really, called pyromancers who make the stuff. There’s none of it in the North.”

“I know how to make a substance from charcoal, sulfur and potassium salts that will explode with great force. Is this known here?”

“I’ve never heard of such,” Samwell replied. I looked around the table. Everyone else shook their heads.

“We will need quantities of fine charcoal, well-ground. High-quality sulfur. And potassium salts.”

I used John Carter’s word; we had discussed the explosive he called “gunpowder” when he described the weapons of his world.

“I can get you the charcoal and sulfur, as much as you want,” Gendry said. “I don’t know that last.”

“I have tasted it here. It is that odd-tasting salt in preserved meats.”

“Saltpeter,” Samwell said. “We can get that, too.”

“That is good,” I said. “Prepare several baskets of each, please. Ser Davos, can you oversee the making of some waterproof bags of canvas, about the size of a cow’s stomach?”

“Of course.”

“Please do so. At least twenty of them, constructed so that we can fill them with a powder and then seal them to remain waterproof. It is vital to keep moisture away from the powder.”

“I understand.”

“Do your people eat meat? Cows?”

“Yes, it’s part of the regular ration for the guards and servants. We usually slaughter two of them per day.”

“How many are here?”

The Onion Knight thought for a moment.

“Maybe forty or fifty? We buy them about once a month in local markets, and plan to keep a larger herd here in winter of course, when prices fall as everyone culls their stock.”

“We will need four of them every day,” I said. “We will need to roast them and keep them warm, ready to feed the dragon. On the days when the dragon does not appear, feed the roasted cows to the people and roast new ones.”

“So we should always have four freshly-roasted whole cows ready?”

“Correct,” I said. “Dragons swallow their food whole, but a dragon will turn its fire on a raw cow. We want it to swallow these cows without burning them first.”

“That should not be a problem,” Ser Davos said. “I can detail a couple of soldiers to help the cooks. And we’ll buy more cattle right away.”

“I’ve seen stone bowls used for grinding grain and other things. About so large,” I motioned with my hands “with a stone object used to smash the grain.”

“A mortar and pestle?” Samwell asked. He quickly drew one on his little board known as a slate.

“Exactly. How many of these are in Winterfell and the Winter Town?”

“No idea,” Samwell said. “Probably a fair number.”

“Collect them all. Offer the owners a silver piece for the use of it, and we will return them after. We also will need a worker for each bowl.”

“We can do that,” said Lord Glover. “What will come of it?”

“A powder that will explode with a great deal of force. Enough force to kill a dragon, I hope.”

“You think,” he asked, “that the explosion can break through the dragon’s hide?”

“I do not know,” I answered. “We will attempt to kill it from the inside.”

“So the dragon eats the cows full of exploding powder,” he said. “What makes it explode?”

“Fire can,” I said, “but we know little of what goes on inside a dragon. I think it likely that a dragon’s insides are very hot, at least when it breathes fire.”

“I concur,” said Samwell. Tansy nodded.

“The powder can also be set off by high temperatures. One higher than that which cooks meat, yet not as great as that which melts stone. Temperatures that we know exist inside a dragon, at least when it creates its fire. My sister Tansy showed me where dragons melted the stones of Harrenhal with their fire.”

“The dragon swallows the cows,” Galbart Glover mused, “the cows heat up and explode, the dragon dies of shredded organs.”

“Correct.”

“Princess, I would follow you anywhere.” 

My sisters, Maege and I dined that night with Gendry, Ser Davos, Samwell Tarly and Gilly. Marya Seaworth had been sure to seat Gilly next to me, which I found pleasing. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt with these people as the servants brought me a platter of deer meat, which is called venison. I had not sought it, but somehow I had found a home here. And I would fight for that home.

For the first time I would use my mind rather than my sword. I would keep my sword with me all the same; I did not know if its wonderful steel would pierce a dragon’s armored hide but I suspected that it would. Too many of the stories Samwell and Tansy told me linked Valyrian steel with dragons. We have massive creatures on Barsoom, and John Carter had defeated and killed them. If the explosives failed, I would find a way to do the same. 

* * *

“They’re not going to fail,” Gendry said as we leaned side-by-side on a merlon, looking down from Winterfell’s outer wall on a team of soldiers preparing another test of the explosive powder.

“There is much that can go wrong,” I said.

“Early tests have been good,” he said. “The powder does enormous damage if it’s contained so the blast is focused. And it will be inside the dragon.”

“Your workers have ground it finely?”

“I think so,” he said. “It’s smooth, and silvery-black. That’s how it should be, right?”

“I have no idea.”

“I thought this was common in your lands.”

“Not for many years,” I said. “We now kill one another with far deadlier weapons.”

“We’ve been lucky so far,” Gendry said. “Grinding the powder is dangerous work if a spark’s struck anywhere near. We might be better off grinding it wet, then drying the result.”

I considered this. If I recalled my basic chemistry correctly, that should also stabilize the matrix and make separation less likely.

“We do not have time for that,” I said. “And I am not sure that I want to teach a more effective method of killing.”

“We’d keep it on the island,” Gendry said. “Use it for defense only.”

“Many have said that,” I said, “and believed it. Only hard lessons can make those vows come true. My people have learned them with weapons far more potent than this powder.”

“I believe you.”

“I remain concerned about the waterproof skins. The powder will not explode if it is damp. And whether it will become hot enough to explode without flame.”

Gendry shrugged.

“Nothing’s guaranteed,” said the blacksmith-philosopher. “All told, I still like our chances with the powder. It’s you I’m concerned about.”

“As am I.”

* * *

With our trap ready, I ordered Gendry, Beth and Jory away from Winterfell; I considered sending Lyra with them but I selfishly wanted my adoptive sister with me and sent Trisha instead. Howland Reed asked that his daughter accompany them. Maege sent ravens to Bear Island with instructions for Alysane to move all of our people into the deep stone-lined food-storage vaults dug into the nearby mountainsides. I knew that Tansy would refuse to leave me; I would have been more comfortable with Trisha alongside me but decided that I would be at greater ease knowing that both Jory and Beth were safe under her watch.

Beth disagreed strongly with my decision, finding me alone in one of the castle’s stone corridors and voicing her displeasure.

“I deserve to be with you,” she said, cutting right to the subject. “Lyra is far less expendable to the family.”

She wore one of the Night’s Watch black cloaks we had looted over her Mormont surcoat, and I grabbed its black fur fringe to pull her close to emphasize my words.

“Jory must be protected,” I said. “She is the least expendable of us all. I trust you with our little sister’s life. You will not disappoint me.”

“I won’t,” she said. “But Trisha will be there to look after her. I want to be with you. To fight with you. To . . . to die with you, if it comes to that. I don’t want to live if you don’t.”

“And I want you with me. But we do not always get what we want.”

I leaned forward and kissed her. I should not have done so, knowing of her attraction to me, but the impulse struck me before I could think about it. Her mouth opened and I wrapped my tongue around hers. She moaned, wrapped her arms around my neck and molded her body against mine; I shifted my hands to her waist. While I stared into her deep blue eyes, I kissed her with a hunger that I had not felt since Kajas still lived. I finally released her, breathing hard from excitement rather than exhaustion. She kept her arms on my shoulders. I could feel her warmth through our tight black tunics and leggings.

“You are not expendable,” I said, reaching up to stroke her hair. “You deserve to survive. Moreso than I.”

“Keep me here with you. Send Lyra with Jory. You love Lyra.”

“I do love her, but no more than I love you. I cannot trust Lyra or even Trisha not to rush to Bear Island out of sentiment. I trust you to make the necessary harsh decisions if all goes wrong. Keep Jory away from any of the castles that may burn, including our own.”

Tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her face.

“You deserve to survive, too,” she said in a ragged whisper. “We need you. I need you.”

“I will strive to do so. But your safety comes ahead of mine. I will fight better knowing that you and Jory are safe.”

She nodded, and this time she leaned forward to kiss me again. She now used her training for her own pleasure, her tongue and lips roving over mine with the same hunger I had shown moments before. I responded; doing so was likely improper, but I did not know that I would see her again. She broke away and kissed the side of my face, and my neck. Not caring who might see, I slid my hand under her tunic and over her left breast, feeling the nipple harden against my palm. I remained determined to kill the dragon and protect my sisters, whatever it might cost. But as I looked upward and felt Beth Cassel’s lips on my throat, her breast in my hand, I found that my desire to survive had greatly increased. 

* * *

Beth and Jory set out a few hours later with Meera, Gendry, Trisha, Samwell Tarly’s wife Gilly and her small son Sam. I sent Tansy’s raven with them, and instructed Beth to find a safe place several days’ ride away and send the bird to determine Winterfell’s condition. We would tell the raven to summon them if it were safe to return. I sternly ordered all of the others to obey Beth. Beth told me she knew of a hunting lodge used by the Stark family deep in the forest known as the Wolfswood that she believed would be secure.

I stopped her in the courtyard just as she prepared to mount her horse.

“You know that Jory is precious to me,” I said softly, so that none of the others could hear.

“I know,” she answered. “I’ll protect her with my life.”

“I know you will. But you are equally precious to me. Do not ever forget how much I love you.”

She hugged me tightly, brushed her lips over mine and swung into her saddle in a single, smooth motion. Jory reached down and took my hand for a moment as she rode past; she said nothing but thought how she loved me. I smiled at her as she rode away.

Trisha paused as she rode past and I put both hands on her thigh, nervously patting her gently with my right hand.

“You can trust me,” she said, having seen Beth’s swift kiss. “With both of them.”

“I know,” I said. “But I want all of you to be safe. Including Gilly. And including you.”

She nodded and placed her hand over mine, stilling it.

“Dejah,” she said softly, so that none would hear her use my name, “I’ll follow you through all the hells. I want nothing more than to charge that dragon with you. A great many people need you to stay alive. Try not to be too brave.”

She smiled and rode on.

If I survived my encounter with the dragon, I could no longer ignore Beth Cassel’s feelings. And I no longer wished to ignore them. I shared them. 

* * *

The Lords of the North ordered most of Winterfell’s people dispersed to other castles and villages, but they themselves remained in place despite Lady Dustin’s loud protestations that she was needed at her castle in Barrowton. I did not trust her not to betray us to the Mad Queen if she had the chance, and the Lords agreed even without the aid of telepathy – they well knew her character and none had forgiven her for supporting the Bolton family.

In an adventure story, the enemy would show up either just before or just after the heroine had her trap ready. Not being a very good adventure hero, instead I waited. Lyra, Tansy and I performed our exercises every morning, and I sparred with Lyra. Marya Seaworth had gone to Deepwood Motte so I had no more wonderful cookies. Instead we ate cow meat, which is called beef, and Tansy resumed teaching me to read their language.

Lord Reed had offered to speak with Daenerys when she arrived, on behalf of the Lords of the North. I trusted Howland Reed, and felt confident in his judgement. I would accompany him; in case the exploding cows failed to work I would try to kill the dragon with my sword. Finally, we would take Samwell Tarly with us; his expertise in dragon lore and his status as a neutral party could be useful.

Anxiety flowed freely around me, but I felt very little of it myself. I rarely did before battle, and I had little doubt that despite our preparations, I would have to fight this massive beast. I oiled my sword – I had never found cause to sharpen it – and meditated frequently in the so-called godswood with Lyra. At night I slept soundly, with both of my remaining sisters clinging tightly to me as though I might disappear during the darkness.

Yet every soldier, even a princess, knows that the endless boredom of war will eventually be interrupted by a few moments of sheer terror. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: The Princess Bowl!


	83. Chapter Twenty-Three (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daenerys is disobedient.

Chapter Twenty-Three (John Carter)

By noon the Volantene army had been shattered, and I took to the air to cut off their retreat. I mounted Rhaegal and brought the other two beasts aloft without riders. We flew to a point on the river north of Selhorys and then swept southward, engulfing each Volantene warship in flame along with a number of transports. Within two hours the river fleet had been destroyed and the army’s retreat prevented.

We struck at Selhorys that night. Crowds of desperate deserters from the defeated army swarmed the gates, with our own troops mixed among them. Most of the gates remained closed, and at several points the guards loosed bolts and arrows into the masses of people outside. But two gates opened, manned by foolish and sentimental garrisons, and our men quickly secured them and admitted more of our own troops. I could not find an opportunity to fling our battalion of Meereenese noble youth into a forlorn hope assault, as had been my intention. They would have to meet their glorious deaths somewhere else.

While that went on, I personally led the assault on the bridge. I allowed Daenerys to ride Drogon while Irri guided Viserion, as Fogo was among the fighters who alighted on the long stone structure across the river Rhoyne. We brought eighteen initially. Arianne and the Sand Snakes had begged the chance to prove their loyalty by fighting in my name, with the remainder all Dothraki, who loved riding the dragons: seven on Drogon, six on Viserion and five on Rhaegal. We landed at the center of the bridge where Obara Sand leapt off Viserion and quickly silenced the lone watchman before he could raise an alarm. I kept Rhaegal circling overhead and we at first simply held the center of the span so that the other two dragons could bring reinforcements. I noted the wooden planks that made up the roadway; I did not dare use dragonfire on the bridge unless all was otherwise lost.

“Is this not better than sex, my Emperor?” Arianne whispered loudly, drawing a laugh from the nearby Dothraki. She wore what she claimed was the fighting dress of Dornishwomen, with gold-plated armored cups covering only the tips of each breast, a bare midriff and a short silken skirt that was likely translucent by day. She wished to draw my attention, and though she looked ridiculous the silly costume certainly succeeded. I forced myself to concentrate on our task, and noted that her cousins wore more practical leather vests and Dothraki-style linen trousers.

The two transport dragons had just delivered their fourth load of Dothraki, bringing our numbers to 53 men and four women, when a watcher finally spotted them and raised the alarm. I silently ordered Drogon to return to our camp, but this proved unnecessary as Daenerys did not attempt to defy my orders.

As we had been discovered, I sent Ogo and Fogo with 18 other Dothraki to secure the western end of the bridge, where the road went on to Pentos and Myr. I led the others in a wild charge toward the river gate of Selhorys. I drew both of my swords as at least 100 men stormed towards us, though only about ten enemies could fight us at one time.

I felt the joy of battle rise as I leapt toward the first men to meet us and cut them down. Time slowed as I spun, slashed and thrust. To my right, Arianne and her cousins fought with their spinning staffs, leaving their opponents at first confused and then dead. Within minutes at least fifty dead and dying men littered the roadway, along with three Dothraki, and the remaining enemies fled for the assumed safety of Selhorys.

Ogo had taken the small fortification at the opposite end of the bridge with no losses to his own men, and I sent Rhaegal to squat on its roof and warn off any who attempted a counter-attack.

“You’re as skilled in battle as I’d expected,” Arianne said, handing me a piece of cloth she’d taken off a dead man and used to clean the blade at the end of her staff. I wiped down my own swords and thanked her.

“Once I believed that women could not fight,” I said. “The Hyrkoon taught me differently. I see that they’re not alone in this ability.”

“It’s my second-best skill,” she said. “Would you like another taste of my best?”

“We are on duty here.”

“You have a dragon,” she said. “I overheard the pitiable Calye bragging to the loathsome Doreah about the joys of dragonflight. Tell the men we need to scout the area.”

And so I did. The Dothraki warriors noted that she returned without her bosom armor, but said nothing of it.

* * *

I had the supposed prince brought before me at mid-morning, after I had enjoyed a full breakfast with my wives and several of my generals. Calye and her “guards” had taken charge of the prince and his entourage, stripping them to the waist with their hands bound behind them. She lined them up in front of us and forced them to their knees.

I took a seat on a small raised dais, flanked by my wives with Selmy, Jhaqo, Moro and Orange Cat standing beside us. Lodovico, Syrello and Aggo had departed to oversee policing the battlefield, but I had allowed Arianne Martell to join us given her services during the night. She lounged in a carved chair looted from the Golden Company, quietly chatting with Varys.

The prince was a young man with blue-dyed hair and purple eyes. With him were a middle-aged man with blue hair and a red beard streaked with gray, a broad-shouldered orange-haired knight, and another middle-aged man with long black hair tied behind his head.

“The blue hair and red beard would belong to Jon Connington,” Selmy said. “Once Hand to King Aerys, said to have killed himself with drink. I don’t know the others.”

A brown-haired woman rounded out the entourage, her face turned down to avoid eye contact. I saw her purple eyes when Calye put her hand under the woman’s chin and turned her head up to face me.

“This one was dressed as a septa,” she said. “A Westerosi priestess.”

Despite the dirt streaking her face she was extraordinarily beautiful; probably in her mid-30’s with a still-perfect and very full bosom with round brown nipples. I desired her at first sight.

“Ashara,” Selmy breathed, tearing off his ever-present white cloak and rushing forward without asking my leave, to drape it over her shoulders and hide her nakedness. “They said you were dead.”

“It would have been better,” she said, in quiet, husky voice, “if I still were.”

“Ser Barristan,” I gently reprimanded the knight, “allow me to sort this out before you commence your reunion. My lady, you may keep his cloak.”

I decided to start with her, to allow the prince to become nervous.

“Now, Lady Ashara,” I said. “Just who are you?”

“She’s Ashara Dayne,” Arianne unexpectedly answered, rising from her seat to stand alongside Ser Barristan. “Once the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. Her lover killed her brother, and she threw herself into the sea. Or so it was said.”

“It is as she says,” Ashara Dayne said. “I was despondent that Arthur had been killed, that Ned had killed him, that my own daughter, Ned’s daughter, had been stillborn. I let that be believed, but went into exile here in Essos, to look after my best friend’s child. Aegon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia.”

This was only partially true. The boy was her son, not her friend’s child, though I saw through his mind that he believed the lie. Ashara Dayne was not sure of Arianne’s identity.

“This is Arianne Martell,” I said, “Princess of Dorne, and betrothed to become my third empress upon our taking the Iron Throne.” I introduced the rest of my court. “My First Empress, Daenerys Carter, formerly Targaryen, with her trusted friend Missandei of Naath and her tutor Tyrion Lannister. My Second Empress, Rastifa Carter, of the Hyrkoon, and her handmaid Doreah of Lys. Ser Barristan Selmy is apparently known to you, as is Lord Varys. Ko Jhaqo and Ko Moro are among my most honored Dothraki leaders, and Orange Cat was once Unsullied and is now a free man and a general.”

“Might I rise?” Ashara asked.

“And be unbound?” Selmy added. I saw Jhaqo and Moro nudge each other and smile; they had believed Selmy to have no interest in women. So had I.

“Calye, please assist the Lady Ashara,” I said. “Ser Barristan, you may escort Lady Ashara to a tent of her own and see to her comforts. Detail a Hyrkoon guard to assure that she is not troubled, and that she does not leave us just yet.”

“Sweet Doreah,” Rastifa added. “Please see that Lady Ashara has a bath, and appropriate clothing.”

Selmy was likely 30 years older than Ashara, but believed that he loved her. I did not wish to see him embarrass himself further in front of my court. I could always question Ashara Dayne later. Preferably in private.

“Now,” I said, “as to the rest of you. I believe that Lord Varys has some explanations to make to me before I hear your stories. You’ll each be held separately, and at least until I’ve heard from Varys and questioned each of you to my satisfaction, you’ll not be harmed.”

I had initially planned to impale all of them including the woman and the boy and be done with the plot, but seeing Selmy’s courtly love for Ashara Dayne touched me. And truth be told, I wished to touch her as well. Connington had instantly recognized Varys and felt betrayal, and I decided that I needed to know exactly what the eunuch had done before I had the witnesses to his treason executed.

* * *

I chose to deal with Barristan Selmy first, as I needed his full concentration for the campaign already under way. When he returned to my command tent, I motioned for him to join me outside for a brief ride around the walls of Selhorys. I mounted Demon and led the way along a well-trodden pathway; four Hyrkoon trailed a short distance behind us.

“Ser Barristan,” I began. The elderly knight nodded. “I asked you, when you first entered my service, what you sought from it. You told me that you wished to serve the last Targaryen, and redeem your lack of fealty to her father.”

“I did.”

“And you have. Yet that is no longer all that you want, is it?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“As you’ve seen, Ser Barristan, I’m a plain-spoken man so please forgive my bluntness. A love of your youth, who you long thought dead, has re-entered your life.”

“Her youth,” he said. “My middle age. And it was strictly one-sided.”

“You’d like the opportunity to change that?”

“I’m sworn to you as Kingsguard,” he said. “And thereby to take no wife, to love no woman.”

“Are you? That’s not what I recall. You swore to serve me, with your sword and your mind, to protect me, my empresses and whatever family we might acquire. And you’ve done these things, and done them well.”

“It’s the law. A three-hundred-year-tradition.”

“That may once have been true. Yet it’s not my law, it’s not my tradition, and that is not the oath you swore. You were released from your Westerosi oath, you said, and banished. There is no barrier to your pursuing the hand of Lady Ashara, if this is your desire. And it’s my desire that those around me achieve theirs.”

“And if she won’t have me?”

I could have compelled Ashara Dayne to marry Barristan Selmy, and part of my mind – most of my mind – screamed that I should do so. But that would offend his sense of honor. I admired Barristan’s honor in nearly every other case, but his insistence on the agency of women struck me as foolish. They are not capable of making wise decisions, and require guidance.

“That is between the two of you. I’m merely making it clear that there is no conflict between your oath and your heart.”

“And her ward? The Targaryen heir? I would be compelled to defend him, and yet to obey you. I foresee a conflict.”

He believed that the youth would soon ride a pole along with his comrades. I would have preferred not to kill the young man, but was indifferent to the fate of Connington and the others.

“Aegon is her son,” I said. “His father was a man named Ned Stark, who I understand is long dead. He is not the heir; he’s not even a Targaryen.”

Like many men I had known, Barristan Selmy now sought reasons not to have what he desired, rather than reaching out for the prize. Ashara Dayne was beautiful; I could easily imagine her under me and I considered taking her for myself. After a lifetime of longing, Barristan Selmy could not imagine life without that longing.

“He believes himself heir to the Iron Throne.”

“Then it’s time he learned the truth,” I said. “Lady Dayne must be honest with him. And I could imagine no finer stepfather to help her guide the boy.”

* * *

Ashara Dayne entered the private chamber of my command tent gracefully, and slowly removed her cloak to reveal a Qartheen gown beneath, displaying one half of an exceedingly fine bosom. Bathed and dressed, I saw that her beauty eclipsed that of Doreah, Lynesse or even Rastifa.

“I saw how you looked at me,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you ask, just please spare my friend’s son. I’ve raised him as though he were my own, and love him as though I’d borne him.”

Doreah had coached her toward this moment, her thoughts revealed. My lovely slave had urged Ashara to deploy a mixture of honesty and seduction; she had not revealed my telepathic abilities but had told Ashara not to lie to me. Ashara had not accepted the advice. She had told the lie so often that she almost believed it herself.

“Please, be seated,” I indicated some of the many cushions left to me by Khal Drogo. She reclined to show her long and very fine legs, shoulder back to emphasize her bare breast.

I sat cross-legged a few feet away from her, drinking in her beauty for a moment before answering.

“Lady Ashara,” I said. “A few things we must get straight between us.”

“Get straight?”

“To speak honestly, to correct mistaken assumptions.”

She nodded slowly, turning her head to best advantage.

“You’ll learn that it is impossible to lie to me,” I said. “The boy is your son, not Princess Elia’s. His father was a man named Ned Stark. Lord Connington pressured you into the lie, to serve his goal of overthrowing the Baratheon king.”

“That’s not true.”

“That’s completely true,” I said. “You’re quite intelligent for a woman, and know better than to press a lie once it’s found out.”

“What will you do with me? Your slave Doreah says you’ll put a golden collar around my neck and make me your concubine, as she is. I’ll gladly be yours, if only you keep my son from harm.”

She slowly dropped her gown from her right shoulder to reveal her other breast, as perfect as the first. I rose to my knees, leaned forward and kissed each breast and then her lips, something I would never have thought to do before my arrival in this world. She returned my kiss, believing that her son’s life rode on her performance, and turned me onto my back. She soon divested herself of the gown and me of my trousers. I entered her and made to rise but she placed one finger over my lips.

“Slowly,” she whispered. “Leave the pleasure to me.”

She rode me slowly, as she promised, her hands clasped behind her neck to emphasize her spectacular bosom. She knew herself a rare beauty, even if now of a mature age, and allowed my excitement to build before she somehow squeezed my manhood within her and I spent myself. I barely contained the shout that rose in my throat.

Soon she lay by my side, her bosom pressed against my chest.

“There are worse fates,” she said, “than to be yours.”

She flattered me, knowing praise of a man’s skills in the bedchamber to be a sure way to appeal to his vanity, at least in this world. That was not true in Virginia, but I had steadily adapted to my new circumstances. Even so, were I honest I knew myself to be no more than an adequate lover despite Doreah’s lessons and my well-endowed manhood.

“If that’s your wish,” I said. “Ser Barristan loves you, and would marry you. If you’d prefer to be his wife, I won’t stop you.”

“You could have told me that before . . .”

“You wanted it as much as I,” I said, speaking the truth. “And enjoyed it almost as much as I.”

“It is impossible to lie to you,” she flattered, though it seemed her enjoyment came as much from ending a long span of years without congress as much as from anything I provided. “And truth be told, I’d rather be his wife than your concubine, with no offense intended. Assuming that my son will be protected?”

“He will be protected,” I said. “On my honor. But you must be honest with him, and tell him who he is before this day is over. Else my promise is no longer in force.”

She nodded, and soon she rode me again, with results equal to the first time. I regretted my generosity toward Selmy and wished that I could have found a way to foist Lynesse on him instead. I briefly wondered how the aged knight would survive his wedding night.

* * *

I had thought that Varys did not ride, but he surprised me by mounting a borrowed gelding and riding beside me quite serviceably if not well.

“You planned to put the boy in my place,” I began. “That’s not the act of a loyal advisor.”

“You mistake me, my lord,” he said. “I spirited the prince away long before I knew of your existence, long before I agreed to serve you. I substituted a tanner’s babe for young Aegon, and brought the real prince to Illyrio who in turn passed him to Lord Connington.”

“Is that the story you’ve woven?”

“Would you prefer another?”

“How did you convince Ashara Dayne to claim that her son was actually Aegon Targaryen?”

“It was simple, really,” he said, smoothly abandoning the years-old lie. “I learned from a little bird that she still lived, with Ned Stark’s son, not a stillborn daughter. Stark had already claimed Rhaegar’s bastard as his own and Ashara’s, so here I had a small child with the same rare eye color as a Targaryen and a need for an identity. It was merely a matter of collecting the lady and quietly passing her to Illyrio Mopatis. I had no plot at the time, not knowing what the future would bring. I considered the child an asset that could be used in the future, or disposed of quietly along with his mother.”

“And she agreed to this?”

“She felt herself betrayed by Ned Stark, that paragon of self-proclaimed Northern honor. Not so much the bastard he left her, as the Dornish have little care for such things, but that he killed her brother Arthur.”

“The Sword of the Morning.”

“Indeed. She wanted to raise her son away from Westeros. I offered a means to do so.”

“So the rest of your lies are more or less true.”

“The lies are always true,” Varys said. “You know that better than most.”

“And the child murdered by the Lannisters?”

“Prince Aegon Targaryen. The actual Prince Aegon Targaryen.”

We rode in silence for a moment as I pondered this issue. I didn’t wish to kill the boy, even without my promise to his mother.

“What will become of him?” Varys asked. “Will he ride a pole come morning?”

“No,” I said. “He should be learning the truth even as we speak, from his mother. She’ll marry Selmy and he’ll adopt the boy, and that will be the end of the plot.”

“Lady Ashara didn’t please you?”

“You’ll make no mention of that,” I said, “or ride a pole yourself. Are we clear on this?”

“As crystal, my lord.”

* * *

Barristan Selmy married Ashara Dayne two days later in the main sept, as the Westerosi called their churches, of Selhorys. She wore a white gown, and he a knightly costume a seamstress of Selhorys had made to his specifications. I gave the bride away, and Selmy asked Belwas of all people to stand with him. When the ceremony was done, he wrapped his white cloak over her shoulders, and she was his.

I spent most of those days in close consultation with Orange Cat, Lodovico and Rastifa, re-organizing the army following the losses we suffered in the great battle. I decided to incorporate the Golden Company rank and file into our own forces, splitting them among the six infantry divisions and the armored cavalry brigade to replace our casualties. The officers had the choice of joining the ranks as common soldiers or losing their heads; most enlisted.

I ordered the Volantene officers beheaded, and sent the rank and file back to Meereen under guard of a Dothraki khas. They numbered just over 30,000; Lodovico estimated that Drogon and Viserion had burned at least twice that many corpses. It had been an exceedingly bloody battle, but it had broken the ability of Volantis to resist us and the will of her sister cities to attempt such an effort.

Selmy asked for the lives of Connington and Strickland as a wedding present; I had Lodovico assign them to staff work along with their comrades but told him to keep a close watch on all of them. I also named Selmy a hereditary lord in his own right, with lands to be determined, but explained that lordship under the Empire would be an honorific and would never again carry the feudal rights he had once known. I signed a decree naming the boy Selmy’s adopted son, Griffin Selmy. He had been known as Griffin for most of his life, and I had been clear that he was never to refer to himself as Aegon.

I learned later that Selmy did not attempt to enforce his marital rights on his lovely new bride, telling her that it was unchivalrous to do so. Many older men lose the ability to harden their manhood; I never knew if this afflicted Barristan Selmy, and never particularly cared. It wasn’t any of my business, and he seemed happy with his new wife.

* * *

I gave the army four days to rest, which also allowed Qhono’s scouts to fan out on the opposite bank of the Rhoyne and make sure that no surprises awaited us there. I detailed one division to remain in Selhorys, and the remainder of the army passed over the river and headed to the south-west. While they crossed, I gathered my senior staff together to confirm our plans for the next phase of the campaign. We had brought along the map tables from Meereen, and Irri had flown Drogon to the city to fetch Pono, Meris, Istarion and Kainaz for consultations.

“We’ll bring the First Army to Galati as planned,” I began. “And capture first Lys and then Tyrosh. That likely means at least one naval action and two sieges, and we’ll deploy the dragons in all of those.

“The Second Army will move directly westward, as planned, to occupy Pentos and Myr. I expect little resistance, but we’ll be ready for any events. If that goes well, Second Army divisions will make the first landings in Westeros.”

“Where do you plan to strike?” Selmy asked. “Directly for King’s Landing?”

“Very soon after,” I said. “We’ll need to gather the fleet somewhere closer to the target, one of the smaller ports or islands off the coast of Westeros.”

“Here,” Meris said, using a pointing stick to indicate an island south-east of the capital. “Tarth. I grew up there. The channel between the island and the mainland is well sheltered; merchants and pirates use it regularly to escape storms. And it’s very large, enough for the entire fleet.”

“You’re of the Tarth family,” Tyrion said aloud. “That’s why you resemble Brienne.”

“One could say that,” she answered.

“What about food and water?” I re-directed the discussion.

“Plentiful,” she said. “Tarth’s known as the Sapphire Isle for its clear waters. It’s a long-standing trade, supplying passing ships. Never this many at once, but there should be enough.”

“What of Dragonstone?” Selmy asked. “That was the Targaryen seat, before the Conquest.”

“Too small,” Varys interjected. “For an army of this size, anyway. A huge and empty castle but only a tiny port and no place to shelter men and horses. Only a fool would launch an invasion from there.”

“The Conqueror did so,” Selmy said.

“Yes,” I retook control. “Himself, two women and three dragons. We are bringing considerably more than that.”

“You will ask Dothraki to board the wooden horses?” Pono asked “And cross the poison sea?”

“Only volunteers,” I said. “Perhaps ten to twenty thousand, young men without families.”

“None will wish to be left behind,” he said. “Do you have enough ‘ships’ to carry 20,000 horses, plus remounts and the horses of your crawlers?”

Pono had identified the weakest point of my plan. Not just any ship could carry horses, and they could not be left aboard ships while an army mucked about seeking direction. We would have to transport them to Tarth, likely unload them there, load again as soon as possible and move directly to a landing. An army that remained on an island, even one as large as Tarth, would soon lose most of its animals; a stay on a tiny island like Dragonstone would see all of them die.

A weak leader would bluster through and pretend to have every answer. I was not a weak leader.

“We do not,” I said. “Illyrio has placed orders for new, large ships suitable for carrying perhaps 100 horses each, but they are far from ready to use. We have some ships that can do this, but not nearly enough. Ideas?”

“Could we bring them in stages?” Lodovico asked. “Keep them on Tarth until we have enough?”

I looked to Meris.

“Doubtful,” she said. “I don’t see the island providing enough fodder for 100,000 horses for that many turns of the moon. One, perhaps two, but no longer.”

“Such a lengthy stay,” I added, “also alerts our enemies to our presence and intentions.”

“Lord Tyrion told me,” Daenerys said, “that King’s Landing is a huge port, always served by many ships. Could we not capture the ships we need?”

“Lannister?” I prompted the dwarf. It surprised me that he had something useful to offer, but I would not turn down information that could prove helpful, whatever the source.

“How many ships are we talking about?”

“At least 100,” Lodovico said. “Of 500 tons’ burthen or more. It’s not enough to carry the horses, they must have fodder and water sufficient for the journey and any time the ship spends becalmed.”

“In my time as Master of Coin,” Lannister said, “I doubt that that many large ships touched at every port of Westeros combined. Perhaps a score might be found in King’s Landing at once.”

“Perhaps they could be hired.” Syrio Forel had never spoken in a council before; I usually invited him as a courtesy. “The Sealord of Braavos might well pay us to leave these lands.”

“My love,” Rastifa began, drawing a quickly-hidden scowl from Daenerys, “My Emperor. Could we not combine these plans? Move an army with little cavalry to the island Tarth, move quickly from there to the city King’s Landing, and then spend some time building up our forces with what ships we can obtain from many sources?”

“That may become necessary,” I said. “I’d prefer to strike with greater force. We’ll be vulnerable, pinned to the area around King’s Landing.”

“My love,” Daenerys said, mimicking her sister-wife. “Let me prepare the way. I can easily fly with Drogon across the Narrow Sea. I won’t be alone; you can send your best fighters. Syrio or Strong Belwas.”

“And what will you do there?” I asked. “Burn the Lannisters?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Right now, Lord Varys says they expect nothing. They don’t even know how powerful an army now follows me. You said yourself that even after Lys, Tyrosh, Pentos and Myr are secured, we’ll need half of a year at the very least to transport my army.”

“And that,” I said, “may be generous.”

“All the more reason to strike now,” she said. “We can’t hide the preparations. The Lannisters will learn about my army, my dragons, my fleet.”

“Are they such a threat?” I asked. “Varys reports that a foreign whore murdered Cersei Lannister with an odd eating instrument known as a ‘spork’.”

“And I salute that nameless whore,” Daenerys said. “Yet her vile brother, my father’s murderer, still lives. Give me leave to fly to King’s Landing and root him out, my love.”

“You’re my First Empress,” I said. “My first love. It’s my duty to protect you.”

“And mine to support you,” she said. “You’ve done so much for me. Let me do this for you. Let me burn the snake’s head before it even knows it is hunted.”

I looked at Rastifa and accessed her thoughts. She believed it a stupid idea. I agreed but could not shame my first wife by saying so aloud. I felt the frantic thoughts of Tyrion Lannister, trying to concoct some scheme to save his brother. Were he on the mission, he believed, he could save Jaime. He could not imagine me allowing him to join Daenerys on the flight.

“John Carter is right,” Rastifa said aloud. “The reward is in no way worth the risk. Trust our husband. His military instincts are uncanny.”

“But not perfect,” Daenerys objected. “He has been right, far more often than not. But I know that this time, I’m right in this thing.”

“I forbid this,” I said. “We will secure the four Free Cities first, then begin our move to Westeros, in stages if necessary.”

“My khal,” Pono said, bravely inserting himself into the argument to spare his khaleesi the humiliation of a direct order to be silent. “We captured many ships at the city Qarth. Will we not capture more ships in these four new cities?”

I looked to Varys.

“That’s likely,” the eunuch said. “How many, is impossible to tell.”

“I don’t want to delay for long,” I said, bringing the meeting to its end. “We’ll continue to look for ways to get our cavalry across the Narrow Sea without a major delay.”

* * *

Foolishly, I spent the night in the arms of my Second Empress, it being her turn for my presence. Our household had moved into a large manse once owned by a merchant family that had fled, and it offered comfortable bedrooms for myself, my Empresses and each of my concubines. After making love to Rastifa I sank into the deep feather mattress and into a deep and, I believed, well-earned sleep.

I was awakened before dawn by Doreah shaking my shoulder.

“Carter,” she said, apparently having done so several times already. “Wake up, damn you. Daenerys is gone.”

My irritation with her instantly vanished along with all traces of sleep.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Sometime during the night, she took Tyrion and Missandei, mounted two of the dragons, and flew away.”

“You didn’t think to stop them?”

“I serve Rastifa now,” Doreah said. “I don’t sleep in Dany’s chambers anymore. I only found out from one of the Hyrkoon Companions. I know she listens to that sawed-off fool, but I never guessed she took him seriously. How could anyone? I’m not the thought reader here.”

“Sweet Doreah,” Rastifa said, “Thank you. Please tell Lodovico to alert the guard, both Dothraki and Hyrkoon, and find any who saw them depart. Ask him to place additional watchers on the city walls and the guard towers.”

“It’s not necessary,” I said as I watched my lovely slave depart. “They’ll find nothing. You and I both know where they went.”

I worried about my princess flying across the open sea and then risking herself in an attack on the royal palace in King’s Landing. I would have felt even deeper dread had I known that she would soon stand alone, before the demon in woman’s form named Dejah Thoris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, crushing news for John Carter.


	84. Chapter Sixty (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris meets the queen of titles.

Chapter Sixty (Dejah Thoris)

Two dragons appeared early one morning where we had expected one. Answering the alarm, I considered wearing my leather fighting harness to avoid drawing attention to House Mormont, but rejected this notion – I would not hide from my new affiliation. I chose the new black outfit that Pia had made for me, with its close-fitting tunic over my breasts, bare arms, a bare midriff, a black skirt without leggings underneath, the green sash covering my lack of a navel, and black high-topped boots. Pia had embroidered the Mormont bear symbol on a green shield, on the tunic over my left breast. I chose not to wear a cloak, and left my hair loose. In Sansa’s mirror I looked both beautiful and extremely dangerous, with my sword as usual slung over my back. I would draw attention, and this was my intent.

Lyra and Tansy put on their Mormont colors, and together we hurried to see what had caused the soldiers on watch to ring the castle’s alarm bell.

Together with the Lords of the North, we stood on one of the fighting platforms on the walls and watched the dragons circle the castle. Hallis Mollen had sprung into action even more quickly than had we. A team of cooks and soldiers including my verbose friend Walder the gigantic stable boy hurriedly pulled the roasting cows off their fires and sewed the prepared bags of explosive into their abdominal cavities.

“Others take me,” Galbart Glover breathed softly. “Our people in King’s Landing said nothing about two dragons. She had only one when she burned the Kingslayer.”

As the dragons landed in front of the South Gate, exactly where we waited, Mollen looked up at me from the courtyard and raised one thumb. The exploding cows were ready.

“What are we going to do?” Samwell Tarly asked, his voice shaking. “We never planned for this.”

“We shall do exactly what we planned,” I answered, far more calmly than I felt. “We will hope that the dragons accept our cooking and share the meat between them.”

Samwell did not wish to walk out of the castle. I did not blame him, but knew that if he faltered my sister Lyra would step into his place. I could not allow that. It shamed me, but nevertheless I gestured to Samwell.

“Let us go.”

I started toward the stairs leading to the courtyard; Howland and Samwell followed. Tansy chased after me, grabbing my upper arm and pulling me around to face her. She took my face in both hands and kissed me, deeply. I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her back. The others pretended not to see.

“Come back to me,” she said in a husky voice. “Promise me.”

“I can only promise that I love you,” I said. “In my long life I have never loved anyone as I do you.”

She buried her face in Lyra’s shoulder, who held her close. Lyra looked into my eyes.

“I know,” I said softly, having read her thoughts. “As I love you.”

As planned, I walked out to meet the dragon riders with Howland Reed and Samwell Tarly on either side of me. Behind us, Walder and Mollen’s crew of Winterfell guards pulled small wheeled carts bearing the four roasted cows stuffed with explosive powder. They placed the cows in a row and walked quickly back to the castle gates, afraid to run lest they attract the dragons' notice.

The larger of the two dragons was a deep black, and bore a pair of female riders on his back who dismounted at our approach. The smaller yellow dragon had a very short rider who remained in the unusual saddle affixed to the base of the beast’s long neck.

The dragons looked much like the drawings in the books: very large reptiles, with a double row of spikes down their backs. They had large, powerful legs and wings which included arms and hands, and scales all over their bodies. The dragons had no intelligent thoughts; they were rather stupid, much like the great white apes of Barsoom.

The dragon rider was a small woman, with silvery hair and bright violet eyes. She wore a leather harness strikingly similar to mine that displayed a taut abdomen. Unlike mine, this harness left her small, high and pointed left breast bare. She was beautiful in a cold sort of way; her thoughts broadcast a mixture of anger and arrogance.

A slender, dusky-skinned woman stood behind her. She broadcast a great deal of nervousness but intense loyalty to the smaller woman. She wore much more clothing to protect her from the weather.

The other dragon’s rider instantly saw that none of us were Starks and worried that he could not control his queen’s rage. He found the whole expedition, undertaken with only the three people and two dragons, the height of folly, and hoped that his warning had saved his brother, from what fate I could not make out clearly. He noticed that I matched the description of the woman who had killed his sister, Cersei, and wondered if I had. He was glad she was dead; apparently Cersei’s last self-pitying thoughts had been correct. No one had loved her.

I could not allow myself to become distracted at this most vital moment.

“It is customary,” the woman who would be queen began, “to kneel before one’s queen.”

“Perhaps,” Howland Reed answered in a level voice. “But it is not customary to kneel before a stranger. I am Howland Reed, Lord of House Reed, and this is . . .”

“I do not care. I am your sovereign.”

The herald spoke.

“You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, Empress of Dragons’ Bay, Queen of Qarth, Conqueror of the Jogos Nhai and Wise Mother of the Hyrkoon.”

“Perhaps we shall acknowledge that in time,” Lord Reed said. “We have brought food for your dragons, and have a small feast prepared inside the castle for you and your associates.”

We stepped aside while Howland Reed indicated the roasted cows.

“Your Grace,” said the other dragon rider, “perhaps we could go inside for food and wine, and peaceful conversation?”

“He is Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen,” Daenerys explained, her tone dismissive. “And we will remain here until these three acknowledge their queen. Does House Reed intend to rebel again?”

“We intend nothing. We would like to learn of your intentions.”

“I am here to receive my due as your queen. And to mete out deserved punishment to the traitorous Stark family. You will tell me where they are. If you lie to me, you will face the wrath of my dragons.”

She finally looked at Samwell and myself.

“Your servants will not kneel either?”

“I am of the Night’s Watch,” Samwell said. “We take no sides in the game of thrones.”

“Then you are of no consequence. And you?”

She stared at me. I locked my eyes onto hers. I reminded her of a sword-bearing woman she knew and deeply disliked, a romantic rival. My red eyes frightened her, but she did not let that show on her face. She finally looked away. I was slightly ashamed of my pettiness, but I already had a deep dislike of my own for this woman.

“You wear the bear of House Mormont. You are one of the usurpers, who have taken the place of your rightful lord, Jorah Mormont?”

“I am Dejah Thoris. Slayer of the Night’s King, Shield-Maiden of Bear Island, adoptive daughter and champion of its ruling lady, Maege Mormont.”

“I will restore Lord Jorah to his rightful place.”

“He is welcome to challenge me. If he does so, he will die.”

“You will kneel before your island’s lord and master and your rightful queen.”

“We do not kneel before barbarians.”

A convenient breeze stirred my hair as silence fell.

“Your Grace,” the short man interrupted our confrontation, “at least allow the dragons to feed.”

She nodded, grateful for the excuse to look away from me. The black dragon looked at the cows and roared at its yellow brother to stay away, claiming them all for itself. The beast quickly gulped down all four, one after another. It would grab one in its jaws, toss it in the air and then let it slide down its gullet. It did not turn its flame on the meal; we had been fortunate on that point. But it had denied any of the deadly beef to its brother dragon.

 _We have a problem_ , Howland Reed thought intensely.

“You are hiding the Starks,” Daenerys said. Her thoughts showed that she actually believed this but did not know that Lyanna Stark still lived.

“I assure you, the Stark line is extinct,” Howland Reed said very calmly. “There are no more Starks.”

“Liar.”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion Lannister said loudly, “perhaps we could discuss this more calmly over some wine and a fine meal . . .”

“I will have answers now.” She did not turn to address the little man. “Where are you hiding the Starks?”

She wished to watch the Starks burn, and then burn Winterfell. She imagined its towers and walls melting, along with its screaming people. Daenerys had become sexually aroused in anticipation. She had no intention of accepting the castle’s submission and fealty; she believed that she would receive orgasm when it burned. She was every bit as insane as Ramsay Snow and I needed to kill her now.

Howland Reed felt me tense and reached for my hand, twining his fingers into mine.

 _Let me try talking_ , he thought at me. _Give the dragon time to explode. Kill the other in the confusion that follows._

“Your advisor,” he said aloud, “will have told you that Eddard, Catelyn and Robb Stark all died before he left Westeros. Arya Stark was killed by Freys, Rickon Stark by Ramsay Snow. Bran Stark died north of the Wall.”

“Jon Snow killed Sansa Stark,” I added, “and was himself killed by the Night’s Watch.”

That had things backwards, but I did not think we should delve into details at this point.

“You are hiding them. I told you what would happen if you lied to me.”

She looked at her black dragon.

“Drogon. _Dracarys_.”

She voiced the command as soon as she thought of burning us, leaving me little time to react. Still holding Howland Reed’s hand, I yanked him to the ground with me in a small hollow but could do nothing for Samwell. The dragon bent its neck back, breathed in and shot a torrent of flame over the fat maester. He screamed terribly as he caught fire.

“Dany, no!” yelled the little man on the yellow dragon. “Not again! Don’t do this!”

Daenerys pointed at us and repeated the command, “ _Dracarys_.”

This time the dragon breathed in and hesitated. I drew my sword and gathered my legs under me. I knew from its last blast that it would rear its head back before unleashing its flame; in that moment I would leap forward and stab it in the throat with all the strength I could muster. I hoped my Valyrian steel would puncture its armor. Then I would have to somehow deal with the other beast. I told myself to concentrate on one impossible battle at a time.

“When I leap for the dragon’s throat,” I hissed into Howland Reed’s ear, “you must run to the side. Get back to the castle and take my sisters down into the cavern of the graves below Winterfell. Tell each again that I love her. Tell Lyra. Tell Tansy. Promise me this.”

“I . . . you do not intend to survive.”

“I value my sisters’ lives over mine. Take them to cover. Do it now. Promise me.”

“I promise you, Princess.”

“The dragon may be about to charge. Do not wait. Go now.”

Howland Reed ran, but the black dragon failed to rear back. Its eyes bulged, and then its entire body puffed outward as the explosives inside the cows reached their flash point. It turned its head directly upward and a thick gout of black smoke emerged. Then it crashed to the ground; its head and neck thrashed about in agony and finally it lay still.

The yellow dragon ignored its brother’s pain; they were stupid creatures. But it had spotted the swamp lord and began to pursue him, running along the ground in long, ungainly strides. Its rider tried to stop it, but the dragon paid him no heed.

I sheathed my sword and ran after it. Leaping aboard, I landed about halfway down its back and grabbed hold of one of the many spikes there. As I pulled myself forward from spike to spike, the little man got out of his saddle and clumsily waddled toward me between the two rows of tall spikes, a knife raised in his hand.

“You are such a beautiful woman. It’s a shame to do this.”

I grabbed the arm holding the knife and closed my fist; he shrieked as I crushed the bones of his wrist and he dropped the knife. I threw him over my shoulder, past the spikes and off the dragon and continued to scramble forward as fast as I could.

I considered stabbing the dragon in the back, but feared that it would turn its head around and use its teeth or its flame on me. To my shame, I continued to climb toward its neck where it could not attack me, in hopes of stabbing it there.

Given extra moments by my hesitation, the dragon raised its head and bellowed flame across the fleeing Howland Reed just as I reached its shoulders. It finally noticed me and tried to bend around to snap at me, but I scampered up its neck to a spot where it could not bite me. It thrashed about in an effort to throw me off, but I hung on. Wrapping my legs firmly around its neck, I drew my sword and took it in both hands to plunge it as hard as I could into a narrow crevice I spotted at the base of its head, where the skull met the neck plates. The sword went in up to its hilt as I screamed and twisted the blade. The dragon shuddered and then collapsed.

I jumped off as the beast hit the ground and pulled my sword out of the dragon’s corpse; it continued to twitch violently but had died as soon as the blade dug into its brain. I walked back toward the queen and her advisors. Sheets of blue blood ran down my legs where I had clasped the dragon’s neck and the sharp edges of its scales had dug into my flesh. Dragon’s blood so dark it seemed almost black dripped from my sword.

“Excuse me. Might I trouble you for some wine to ease the pain? You truly are quite the beauty. Do you know where whores go? I learned the answer not long ago.”

The little man lay on his back looking up at me. Like all men, he felt compelled to tell me of my beauty, as though I had been unaware until that moment. He believed himself quite amusing, and hoped to wittily divert me from killing him and his friends. I noticed that he was missing most of his nose; he was supremely ugly.

“I’m afraid I can’t move my legs. Could you send for someone to collect me?”

Howland Reed was dead. Had I attacked the dragon immediately after tossing the little man overboard, or had I killed the insane Daenerys when I first realized that I should, the man who had saved my life might still have his. I felt myself drained of all emotion. I stared silently at the little man; his very existence seemed an absurdity.

“I suppose it’s fitting that I be crippled here at Winterfell, though I had nothing to do with Bran Stark’s fall. I see that you carry my brother Jaime’s sword. Now that he’s dead I suppose it passes to . . . well, it’s of no matter. If I’m to be your prisoner, might I send word to a woman I once loved?”

His thoughts dwelt regretfully on an unattractive woman with a hooked nose and very pale skin. I thought to put my sword into the little man’s heart, but instead raised my foot and brought my hob-nailed boot down on his face once, twice and a third time without answering him. Blood and brain sprayed from his crushed head and he voided his waste. At least he died silently.

Around me, little tufts of grass burned. Tendrils of smoke crawled across the ground. I stood surrounded by the corpses of two dragons, two of my friends and the annoying little man, but I was not finished. My sisters would not be safe as long as this murderous Dragon Queen drew breath.

As I moved toward Daenerys, her herald stepped in front of me to block my path. She was younger than I had thought, and had shed her cloak. She wore a sheer yellow tunic that fell off her left shoulder to leave one breast bare.

“Do not approach the empress unbidden,” she said, her voice rising and breaking on the last word. Her thoughts radiated terror. She drew a small dagger; I slapped it out of her hand. I took her throat in my left hand and pulled her off her feet while she made gagging sounds. She believed herself about to die and thought of her lover, a soldier in Daenerys’ service.

“Grey Worm cannot save you,” I said. Her eyes bulged in shock at her lover’s odd name. “You served a madwoman and encouraged her to murder innocents. The sentence is death.”

I closed my hand, crushing her windpipe and rupturing both her carotid artery and jugular vein. I cast her dying body to the ground; as she lost consciousness she stared directly at her queen, who did not return her gaze. The nameless herald had been foolishly brave, but the sight and smell of Samwell Tarly’s smoldering remains had driven away any thoughts of mercy I might have had. Samwell had forgiven me for killing his brother of the heart and his brother of the egg, something I myself could never have done. I had stood in his wedding party and seen the pure love he held for a lost free woman. And in my selfishness, I had allowed one of the very few truly good people I have known to be sacrificed.

I knew what had to be done.

Daenerys stood as if frozen, staring at the shattered body of her black dragon. Black smoke continued to rise from its snout. She paid no attention to the deaths of her advisor and her herald, unmoved despite the love they had both borne for her. She mourned only her dragons. I took the dagger she wore on her harness from its sheath and cast it aside. She did not resist.

“We came to you in peace. You will answer for the murders of Howland Reed and Samwell Tarly with your life. I will take your head like that of a common criminal.”

I put my hand on her shoulder and forced her to her knees. This time she resisted, but she could not match my enhanced strength. She looked up at me, her violet eyes blazing with the roiling hatred that her thoughts broadcast at me. She did not believe that I would actually harm her.

“You false Mormont bitch,” she hissed. “You dare not lay hands on me. I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons. I am rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. I am the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Dragons’ Bay, Empress of Essos and the Narrow Sea.”

“You should not have called me ‘bitch’.”

She attempted to rise, but I took hold of her upper arm and forced her back to her knees. When she continued to struggle, I pulled her forward and pinned her in place with my foot centered between her shoulder blades. Tyrion Lannister’s blood seeped onto her skin. She turned her head to look at me, her face reddened and contorted with rage.

“You murdered my dragons. My children. My husband, the Khal of khals, will come with his armies and avenge this insult.

“Khal John is invincible. It is known.”

She thought of her husband, and I saw the images flash through her mind. A broad-shouldered man with white skin and jet-black hair grinned as he rode a horse at the head of a huge cavalcade of brown-skinned men waving strangely curved swords. He lifted her joyously into the air, and she thrilled at the power in his strong arms. He rode on the back of a green dragon, swooping down toward the ground while he shouted at the thrill of it. She straddled him as he lay on his back with his sex organ deep inside her and his hands on her breasts; she looked down on him and felt deeply loved even as she received orgasm and writhed in its pleasure.

He called her his princess.

I recognized every hair, every expression, every sound. Those strong arms that had held me, that had lifted me exactly the same way. Those blue eyes that had once looked into mine with unequalled devotion. Devotion that I had once returned.

“He will find you and he will kill you.”

John Carter was on this planet. And he was coming to kill me.

He called her his _princess_.

Time seemed to move very slowly. Flames crackled as a small tangle of dried-out plants came alight immediately behind me. I smelled the burning grass, the burning flesh.

I swung my sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris finally wears her purple gown.


	85. Interlude Two (Thuvia of Ptarth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the Royal Palace of Helium . . .

Interlude Two (Thuvia of Ptarth)

Returning to my quarters, I considered what I must do next. I had little doubt that my beloved sister Dejah Thoris had departed this world and transported herself to Jasoom, the planet John Carter knew as Dirt. I felt the desire to act with equal foolishness and step onto my balcony to raise my arms to the blue planet overhead. But my sister of the heart depended on me to act more responsibly than she. I had spoken truthfully to Tardos Mors: I would gladly lay down my life for Dejah Thoris. But I would not throw it away to no purpose.

While I had been unable to scan the Jeddak’s thoughts, I did not need to do so to know that I had become an embarrassment to his court. Without the protection of Dejah Thoris, I could expect to be eliminated as soon as Tardos Mors found a suitable excuse. I thought it likely that I would be blamed for the death of Dejah Thoris, and he could thus be rid of both of us. Should I somehow find my sister and return with her to Helium, we could each expect a silent blade to find us not long after. Once set on a course, Tardos Mors did not veer from it, and he had decided to hatch a new heir.

Before I could fling myself into the void between worlds, I needed to be reasonably sure that Dejah Thoris had departed this world. The noble Kantos Kan would not have lied to his Jeddak, despite his lifelong unrequited love for Dejah Thoris. Therefore, I could accept all that I had heard from him as the truth. That alone made it almost irrefutable that Dejah Thoris had left Barsoom; the palace security system would have recorded her movements in a fight had she been abducted, or at the very least some sort of disturbance indicating the presence of her attackers. She had stood on her balcony, and then disappeared, leaving behind a small pile of the golden chains that had decorated her body.

I recalled the words of our world’s greatest philosopher, the Venerable Uhnkt: <<Once one eliminates the impossible, that which remains, no matter how improbably, must be the truth.>>

A thought pattern within my rooms broke my concentration. My husband Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Dejah Thoris, had returned to me. A quick scan of his addled mind revealed that this had not been his own desire; a quartet of Guardsmen had deposited him there while I appeared before the Jeddak.

<<Get out,>> I said as I entered. <<Leave this place before I kill you.>>

<<You are my wife,>> he said, a sneer on his strange, Jasoomian face, a duplicate of John Carter’s. <<I have every right to this place, and to you.>>

<<That was never true,>> I said. <<Whatever status you once held in Helium was only a courtesy to your father. You have done nothing. You have achieved nothing. You are nothing. Even your face and body are borrowed from John Carter.>>

<<That is a lie,>> he said. <<I am prince of Helium in my own right, and your master, slave girl. My father gave you to me.>>

Once, I had thought that I loved John Carter. I had serviced him sexually with my tongue and my breasts, though we could not complete the Jasoomian union he desired. While Carthoris believed himself the son of John Carter and Dejah Thoris, I knew the secret of his origin, of which even his mother was unaware. He was a clone of John Carter, his skin tone turned a less reddish hue than my own through genetic manipulation. Just as his sister was a clone of Dejah Thoris, her skin likewise lightened to make it appear that she shared the genes of John Carter.

I had worked as part of the small, select team that had created both of them, an effort to please John Carter and bind him to the service of Tardos Mors. While I held ultimate degrees in biology and genetics, I had been added to the project because my unusual telepathic strength assured that I could prevent this secret’s revelation even to my beloved sister. This had troubled me for many years, as Dejah Thoris grew despondent over the moral weakness of her son and her own lack of feeling for him. I longed to tell her, but I had sworn a formal oath, and among our people such an oath is binding - our brain structure does not allow us to break it by choice.

And now this failed genetic experiment sought to exert ownership over me. I grew enraged, as I had rarely felt even when forced to perform deviant sexual acts for the pleasure of my Thern captors.

<<Where is my mother?>> Carthoris demanded.

<<You did not find her in the wine sinks and pleasure domes of Lesser Helium?>>

<<The Guards said she was missing.>>

<<She is often missing,>> I said. <<It is her way.>>

<<She never loved me.>>

<<I have given you all of the pity that I possess,>> I said, moving to the cabinet where I kept my weapons. <<Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, has dissolved our marriage by decree. You are an unrelated intruder in the private quarters of a woman of Helium. It is my legal right to kill you.>>

I took my heavy pistol from its holster, chambered an explosive round and leveled the weapon at my now-former husband.

<<I suggest that you use your enhanced abilities to jump from the balcony.>>

<<You would never harm me.>>

He believed that I only made a dramatic show. I missed Dejah Thoris terribly, I hated John Carter for having driven her from me, and I hated this pale shadow of John Carter for his very existence. I had chosen to marry him, it is true, seeking a substitute for John Carter. Now I wished him dead.

<<For years I have fantasized of this moment,>> I said. <<You, at the other end of my pistol. Me, with the absolute right to press the firing stud. It is only for the feelings of my sister of the heart, your mother, that I hesitate. I will not hesitate for long.>>

<<You did not deserve to wed a prince of Helium,>> he said. <<I should never have accepted my father’s cast-off lover as my wife. Only my mother’s foolish intervention prevented your justified execution. I deserve a true princess, not a slave girl.>>

<<Have they not told you?>> I sneered in return. <<Tardos Mors has revoked your royal status and removed you from the line of succession. You are to be assigned to the slave pool, to live out your days at hard labor in the tunnels beneath this city.>>

I did not know this to be his fate, though I suspected that it would come to pass as soon as I failed to produce Dejah Thoris. He stepped toward me, and I carefully positioned the pistol’s barrel against the center of his chest, where his peculiar Jasoomian anatomy had placed his heart.

<<I told you,>> he said, <<you will not harm me.>>

<<And I told you to leave.>>

<<Drop the weapon, drop to your knees and pleasure me, slave girl>> he said, unlatching his harness to reveal his swollen, bizarre Jasoomian sex organ. <<That is your role.>>

What madness had attracted me to John Carter, let alone his abomination of a son? Both of them had used me as badly as any Thern, and John Carter had done the same to my beloved sister. All at the orders of Tardos Mors, to keep John Carter in the service of Helium. In public, I pretended gratitude that Dejah Thoris had lifted me to her own station, but in my own thoughts I knew the truth: I had dragged her down to mine.

<<Must I force you again?>> Carthoris asked. <<I will punish your insolence if I must.>>

He wrapped his hand over my left breast and painfully dug his vile fingers into my flesh, nothing like a lover’s gentle touch.

<<These have always been your only redeeming feature,>> he breathed, <<the only reason my mother tolerated you.>>

The foul stench of stale wine washed over me as he squeezed my breast. I pressed the firing stud.

* * *

The inquisitors from the Palace Guard made short work of their investigation. The slaves assigned to clean the strangely-hued red blood and tissue from the floor, walls and tapestries took considerably longer. The lingering thought patterns of Carter Thoris, known as Carthoris, showed clearly that he had attempted to assault an unrelated woman, a princess of an allied state.

The inquisitors issued me a reprimand, believing that I should have challenged him with my sword rather than deploying a weapon that vaporized his entire torso at such close range and left his corpse in two shattered pieces. But there would be no formal charges against me; I would not be shot or beheaded for killing my former husband. I had been careful to shoot him in the heart rather than the head for precisely this reason, so that his brain would remain intact for examination. Once the inquisitors had gone, I eagerly entered the sonic shower to cleanse myself of my former husband’s foul-smelling bodily fluids.

I had killed my husband, the supposed son of my sister. For myself, I had no regrets over my actions. Would Dejah Thoris understand what I had done, and could she forgive me? Since the disappearance of John Carter, the two of us had been increasingly shunned by others at the court of Helium, and now that she was missing as well, I knew that my feelings of isolation were not misplaced. I was in great danger here.

While I had removed a long-standing irritation from my life, the death of the worthless Carthoris brought me no closer to finding my beloved sister of the heart. I hoped that she would not blame me for my actions, once I shared the memory with her. She had borne no love for the hatchling Tardos Mors had forced upon her in order to placate the whims of John Carter, who had no more interest in his son than did Dejah Thoris.

I knew that Dejah Thoris would feel guilt over the fate of Carter Thoris and Tara Carter. I had killed Carter Thoris, but I felt that I should at least attempt to save Tara Carter from enslavement. Having been enslaved myself, I could not wish such a fate upon anyone else, even the spoiled child of John Carter. While I had few potential allies within the palace, I knew of one outside who might assist. Once the inquisitors and the slaves had departed, I went to the communications console and contacted Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of the green Thark tribe and onetime friend of John Carter.

<<Thuvia of Ptarth,>> said the green man when the connection had been made, <<I had hoped to never see you again.>>

<<And why is that? We had an adventure together. I thought we were friends.>>

<<John Carter is the brother of my heart. Your sister’s contempt drove him to return to Jasoom. You played a lesser role, but also bear guilt in this matter.>>

<<You know this as a fact?>>

<<What more evidence is needed, slave girl? She treated him as one would a brain-addled calot. He has disappeared again. When this last happened, he had gone to Jasoom, and I foolishly followed Dejah Thoris down the River Iss in search of him, only to find you instead. I shall forever regret my failure to feast on her succulent flesh, to share out her finest portions, steeped in blue blood-sauce. By that failure I allowed her to cast her spell over my brother Dotar Sojat.>>

<<Your beloved Dotar Sojat,>> I said, likewise using the name by which the Tharks referred to John Carter, <<organized hunts of the green men.>>

<<Only the barbarian Warhoon,>> Tars Tarkas said. <<It is a lie that Tharks were also killed. Is it for some reason that you afflict me with your image?>>

<<Dejah Thoris is missing.>>

<<Dejah Thoris is always missing,>> he said. <<She is a fool, even for a red female, as you well know.>>

<<Have you seen her?>>

<<I have neither seen nor heard from her. Had I done so, I would now be picking her remains from my molars. Should I find her or you in our lands, Thuvia of Ptarth, I will sink my tusks into your flesh while you yet live and savor your delectable screams.>>

I had intended to ask Tars Tarkas to find a safe place for Tara Carter. I now saw that he would be more likely to place her in one of his tribe’s cooking pots.

<<May calots feast on your diseased flesh, Tars Tarkas,” I said as I broke the connection. <<I regret the moment I first saw your repulsive six-limbed form.>>

* * *

My plan of action was simple: I would confirm the disappearance of Dejah Thoris, and then stand under the night sky of Barsoom, raise my hands to the blue planet and wish to be reunited with my sister. When that ridiculous attempt inevitably failed, I would be exiled to Ptarth, a city I barely remembered. I considered it far more likely that Tardos Mors would manufacture some crime that would lead to my being tied to a stake in Helium’s Arena of Punishment and speared with thrown javelins.

I took satisfaction that before my death, I had killed the loathsome Carthoris; I wished that I had had the opportunity to kill his despicable father, who had demanded the same depraved animalistic sex acts of myself and my beloved sister. And, though it shamed me, I wished that Carthoris had brought John Carter’s beloved pet, the calot Woola, with him so that I might have killed that disgusting creature as well. Perhaps I could find a means to eliminate John Carter’s brother of the heart, Tars Tarkas, before the Javelins of Justice found my heart.

Over the years, Dejah Thoris and I had become isolated from many in the court of Helium, as our respective marriages became strained. Few actually liked John Carter, but many feared him and even more sought to use his undoubted military skills for the benefit of Helium’s empire. No one liked Carthoris or had any use for him, yet he was the son of the Warlord of Barsoom.

I had only a few tasks to complete before Tardos Mors ordered my execution. Tara Carter remained in some peril should I fail in my quest to find my sister. With few allies left to me, I contacted my father, Thuvan Dihn, and told him of my situation.

<<Die well, my daughter,>> he said. <<Let the throngs of Helium see the courage of Ptarth.>>

I had believed that if all else failed - as all else had obviously now failed - my father would shield me from the wrath of Tardos Mors. I had been mistaken.

<<I am a princess royal,>> I said, <<your own daughter. You would leave me to the whims of Tardos Mors?>>

<<Truly, I am pained by your impending death,>> he answered. <<I would suffer greater pain to see our city leveled by the fleet of Helium. And that would be the result were I to intervene on your behalf.>>

<<You will at least shelter Tara Carter?>>

<<She may assume a position as lady-in-waiting to my next daughter,>> he said. <<I can offer no more.>>

I had wasted my efforts in regard to my former sister-by-law Tara Carter. She had desperately sought the attention of her parents, and blamed me for diverting that of Dejah Thoris away from her. She had hated me since not long after her hatching, while I had found her to carry far too much of her father’s ignorance and spite. Yet for the sake of my dear sister, I contacted Tara in hopes of persuading her to leave Helium while she was able.

<<You murdered my brother of the egg, and you expect me to trust you?>> she raged over the video link. She looked so much like Dejah Thoris that her anger pained me. <<I should challenge and kill you myself.>>

<<It would not be a legal challenge,>> I pointed out. <<As your father forbade your training at arms. My sword would find your breast before the crowd had found their seats.>>

<<I want nothing from you, nor from my mother,>> she said. <<The two of you drove my father from Barsoom.>>

<<Tardors Mors will put a slave collar around your neck,>> I said. <<Trust me when I say that you would rather that he had you killed.>>

<<If that is true, then why have you not yet thrown yourself on the point of your own sword? It is no surprise that my mother left you behind when she fled this place. Do not contact me again, slave girl.>>

My repeated failures would have deeply disappointed my beloved sister. As impulsive as she was beautiful, Dejah Thoris now depended upon me for rescue. And I had so far only managed to estrange myself from both her family and mine.

* * *

A summons from Princess Heru, the mother of Dejah Thoris, showed me to be mistaken on that last point. She greeted me warmly, and bade me enter her private chamber. We dined on broiled fish, a great delicacy among the peoples of Barsoom and a dish consumed only by royalty, and made small talk over the meal. After the servants had cleared away the remains, she came to the point.

<<Dejah Thoris has followed John Carter,>> she said. <<You and I both know this to be true. You intend to follow her?>>

<<I do,>> I said. <<Though I have little hope of success.>>

<<I believe that you will succeed,>> Heru said. <<And I wish you to take my love with you, to my daughter. For you must not return here.>>

Love between parents and children is rare in our culture, but I knew that Princess Heru deeply loved her daughter, and that Dejah Thoris returned that love. We are not a loving people, but Dejah Thoris was an anomaly, a difference that had left her always unhappy. I knew that she had had a brief period of joy with her sister of the heart Kajas, before Kajas was cruelly murdered in what I understood to be a blow aimed at Dejah Thoris. I hoped that I had given her a small sliver of what she had once enjoyed, but it is difficult to take the place of a ghost. Each time I disappointed my sister, and I did so often, I knew that I had fallen short yet again in comparison to Kajas.

<<Join me here,>> Heru said, indicating the sacred carpet set on the floor in the center of her chamber of solitude. <<I have something for you.>>

Unsure what she wished, I waited for her to kneel on the carpet before imitating her.

<<Come closer,>> she said, pulling my arms and thighs to bring me into the position of ritual sex.

<<Do you mean to join with me?>> I asked.

<<Silence now,>> she said, taking up with same position in front of me, close enough that our knees and breasts touched. She reached behind my neck to unlatch the fine golden chains covering my breasts, then did the same to her own. She spread her arms and splayed her fingers, and I placed mine against them, my fingers matching hers. Many times had I done this with Dejah Thoris, but never with Heru.

<<We are one,>> she whispered.

<<We are one,>> I repeated.

<<We are one,>> we said together, and then she kissed me. She played her tongue along mine and then pressed her lips along my neck, my chest and to my breasts that still bore the dark, angry bruises inflicted by my husband. Dejah Thoris was as skilled a lover of the breast as any in Helium, but Heru equaled her and I began to lose my self-control. I felt the tendrils of her thoughts overwhelm my own. Love for Dejah Thoris, intense and deep, and even love for me, a feeling that I had only truly ever known from her daughter. This was true sex, not the sickening travesty practiced by John Carter and his loathsome shadow of a son.

I gasped aloud when Heru broke the connection, a breach of etiquette on most occasions, but she did not mind.

<<You understand now why I needed to see you, to tell you in this manner.>>

To have joined with her daughter in ritual sex would have been a severe violation of our people’s mores, but as Heru and I had no such genetic relationship there was no barrier between us. And I could now share these emotions with Dejah Thoris, were I to ever re-unite with her.

<<I do,>> I said. <<I will give your love to Dejah Thoris, as you have given it to me.>>

* * *

One loyal friend remained to Dejah Thoris. Kantos Kan, the noble commander of the Palace Guard, invited me to scout the distant empty hills for a sign of Dejah Thoris. He kept his thoughts screened but I knew this to be a ridiculous excuse to take us out of range of the palace’s surveillance systems.

<<Tardos Mors will know that you spoke with me,>> I said. <<You will suffer for this meeting.>>

<<Dejah Thoris has owned my life since we were hatchlings,>> he said. <<You are not the only one left in Helium ready to lay down their life for its Princess.>>

<<What can you tell me of my sister?>>

<<Nothing that you did not hear me report to Tardos Mors,>> he said. <<She disappeared from the surveillance system without warning. There are no signs of intruders, or of interference with the system. My people have disassembled the security system and examined every component. It was working in perfect order.>>

<<And what is your belief, Kantos Kan?>>

<<She has left our planet,>> he said. <<Whether she reached Jasoom, I cannot say.>>

<<I agree,>> I said. <<And wherever she has gone, I intend to follow.>>

<<I assumed such from the load of weapons and supplies you brought with you.>>

<<I do not intend to return,>> I said, << I must be prepared to face the barbarian hordes of Dirt.>>

<<We do not know where she may have arrived,>> he said. <<Or if she survived the transit. You are taking a great risk.>>

<<Kantos Kan,>> I said, <<you know the mind of Tardos Mors better than I. He is angered and shamed by the disappearance of first John Carter and now Dejah Thoris. He requires a target for this rage, and has selected me. I will not be allowed to live much longer, certainly not for the full year he has given Dejah Thoris to return. It is far less of a risk for me to follow Dejah Thoris, if this is even possible.>>

<<It saddens me to do so,>> he said, <<but I must agree.>>

I looked up at the blue planet. Suddenly, I knew for a certainty that Dejah Thoris had indeed gone there. I checked my weapons one final time: my own sword and that of Dejah Thoris, two daggers, my rifle as well as hers, and two heavy pistols plus a weighty satchel of ammunition. Another satchel bearing a medical kit, food concentrates and a supply of water rounded out my provisions; I would be weighed down but I intended to remain alive in the savage world that had bred John Carter.

<<One moment,>> Kantos Kan said. <<Before you attempt this.>>

He had screened his thoughts again, and though I could easily have broken through, I respected his privacy and nodded for him to proceed.

<<I wish that you had turned to me instead of Carter Thoris,>> he said. <<I am no prince, but I would have loved you as you deserve. As you do not intend to return, nor would it be wise for you to do so, I wished you to know that.>>

Had I regarded the noble Kantos Kan as anything more than a treasured friend and comrade, his confession might have disrupted my concentration. I knew that his true desire centered on Dejah Thoris, a woman he could never have, and though I was myself a princess and therefore beautiful I was but a poor substitute for my sister of the heart.

<<I thank you,>> I said, and gave a non-committal answer that he could interpret as he wished. <<At times, I have been as foolish as Dejah Thoris.>>

I looked upward and found the blue planet. Blue, the color of blood. I raised my hands toward it and concentrated on Dejah Thoris. On my love for her, and hers for me. On her need for me, how she wished me by her side. Thoughts that I dimly realized did not originate in my own mind. And then I did not think at all.

* * *

A reward for reading this far, a picture of Thuvia of Ptarth:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vengeance cannot raise the dead, or so they say. Both John Carter and Dejah Thoris now seek this most useless of prizes.


	86. Chapter Sixty-One (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris celebrates victory, and mourns her losses.

Chapter Sixty-One (Dejah Thoris)

Why had I lopped off the head of Daenerys Targaryen?

On the surface, I had full justification: The Lords of the North had agreed that she was murderously insane and should be killed if possible before she could repeat the mass murder she had committed at King’s Landing. And she had murdered, by way of her dragons, two highly respected and beloved figures in the North of Westeros, Howland Reed and Samwell Tarly.

But as I walked slowly back to the gates of Winterfell, holding Daenerys’ head by its long silver-gold hair in one hand and my bloody sword in the other, I knew that those reasons had little to do with it. I killed Daenerys because she had loved and married my husband, John Carter. And he had called her his princess.

 _I_ had been his princess. And now I was forgotten.

Once, I was Princess of Helium, Regent of the Royal Academy of Sciences, and Consort Royal of John Carter, Jeddak of Jeddaks, the Warlord of Barsoom. After John Carter’s disappearance from our planet, I lifted my arms toward his home world and instead ended up here, a land known as Westeros and riven by the political and social conflict cynically known as the game of thrones.

Like John Carter, my transit through the depths of space left me stronger and faster than I had been before. Initially seeking my husband, I found a woman who became my sister and later my lover. Realizing that I had been abandoned by John Carter, I in turn abandoned my search for him and became an adopted daughter of a noble family known as House Mormont.

To defend my new home, I first slew the evil being known as the Night’s King and later killed a murderously insane princess and her two fire-breathing dragons. I came to love my sisters, and I lost interest in returning to John Carter.

Soon he would return to me, with death in his eyes.

* * *

The castle gates opened and a stream of people rushed out to meet me. My sister Tansy reached me first and flung her arms around my neck. Lords and soldiers surrounded me, reaching out to slap or grasp me on the shoulders. A few pounded me hard on the back; men and women rarely touch one another in public in this culture, but overwhelming joy had overcome that prohibition. With a great deal of effort, four soldiers lifted me onto their shoulders and carried me into Winterfell. For the moment, I was their hero.

All but one. Lady Barbrey Dustin stood apart from the crowd and scowled.

I did not scan her thoughts, so overwhelmed was I by my own emotions and those of my friends. Only Tansy, Maege Mormont and Howland Reed had been present when I slew the Night’s King and restored this world to its natural balance, but over a hundred people had seen me kill two dragons, one by craft and one by sword.

And they had seen me summarily execute Daenerys Targaryen along with her herald, whose name I did not know, and her advisor Tyrion Lannister. All killed by my hand, all in cold blood.

When the soldiers finally put me down Tansy swept me into her arms and kissed me, opening her lips and using her tongue as she had on the castle walls before my encounter with the dragons. Hallis Mollen, the Winterfell guard captain, gently patted my shoulder even as my sister kissed me and then took the head and my sword from my hands. His thoughts showed that he planned to treat the head respectfully and put it out of sight, and that he wished to show respect for me by cleaning my sword. “Mollen,” I called over Tansy’s shoulder when she finally released the kiss. “Thank you.”

He nodded. He also carried the head by its hair; the purple eyes of Daenerys were still open, and they seemed to glare at her killer with unspoken accusations. Her mouth remained frozen in a shocked, open circle and I noticed that her hair was now ragged as my sword had cut some of it away. She had expected her list of titles to act as armor. They had meant nothing to me, and done nothing for her.

Before I could dwell on those thoughts, Davos Seaworth swept us both into his embrace. “Girls, we must celebrate. I’ll have Sam send . . .” His words faltered.

“I’ll send ravens myself to tell our people it’s safe to return.”

Samwell Tarly’s wife Gilly, a former wildling as they called the people who had lived north of the Wall, had been sent away from Winterfell for her own safety. She awaited word at a nearby hunting lodge, along with my former apprentice, Beth Cassel, my steward Trisha, and my little sister, Jory Mormont. I would have to tell Gilly what had happened to her husband. I dreaded this task.

Many other soldiers and Winterfell servants reached out to touch me, and thank me. My adoptive sister Lyra Mormont pushed through them, took my face in her hands and then kissed me deeply just as Tansy had done. She had much less skill than Tansy, but just as great a passion. I had fantasized such a moment more than once, but could not summon enough emotion to enjoy it.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I am not badly injured,” I answered.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Stay with me and I will be better.”

I put my arms around the shoulders of my sisters, and they linked theirs around my waist. I accepted the thanks of several dozen more people, more hugs and more kisses, though none as fiery as those of Tansy and Lyra.

I had left five corpses outside Winterfell’s gates along with two dead dragons. When Galbart Glover had finished hugging me and had kissed me soundly on the forehead, I slipped free of my sisters and pulled him aside.

“We should dispose of the remains as soon as possible,” I told him. “Daenerys had a husband, a leader of the Dothraki, who rode her third dragon.”

“Surely he won’t arrive today.”

“No,” I said. “You are correct. I am still somewhat shaken.”

“You should be. You killed a bloody dragon. _Two_ of the buggers. Leave such things to me. Try to enjoy the celebration. You’ve earned it. They’ve earned it. One by one, their heroes fell. This time their hero won the day.”

“You are correct again,” I said. “I left my friends out there and am not myself. Will you send someone to collect them?”

“Of course. I’ll see to it myself.”

Tansy took me by the arm and grabbed Lyra’s hand.

“No more seriousness. Your people won’t enjoy themselves unless you give them permission. And that means you have to enjoy yourself. Come on, let’s clean you up.”

My people. I supposed that they were. And I knew she was right. My long training as a princess had taught me the importance of allowing the people to celebrate a victory; life brings a full share of defeat and, in this land, far more than its share. Enjoy the rare opportunities to savor victory. I had some deep cuts on the inside of my legs where the second dragon’s scales had sliced into my flesh as I clung to its neck, but was otherwise unhurt. No one had mentioned aloud that the blood running down my legs was blue.

In our rooms, I washed myself clean with a basin of cold water – I could not bear to go fetch a tub and hot water, and would not ask the soldiers to do so. Lyra cleaned my cuts with alcohol while Tansy stitched the two worst of them closed, and then they wrapped them all in several long clean cloths. It stung, but I was glad we had an anti-septic in this world filled with germs and infection.

Ser Davos had long ago given us chambers that we had occupied during our each of our stays in Winterfell; one of the servants had told me they once belonged to a woman named Lyanna Stark, aunt to Arya and Sansa. I had met her; she had married my friend Howland Reed and changed her name to Jyana, seeking to escape her former life. She did not yet know that she had been widowed by my failures in front of Winterfell’s gates.

The rooms included an alcove for hanging clothing, and the gowns Sansa Stark had gifted to us a year earlier remained there. We had never had a chance to wear them, but now we took them out.

“Have you a gown to wear?” Tansy asked Lyra. “Some of these that Sansa brought for Dejah are still here.”

“No, I don’t,” my adoptive sister said. “Nothing but Mormont green and black.”

“Let’s find you one.”

Tansy and Lyra sorted through the gowns while I sprawled on my back on the large bed, looking up at the canopy over it. Someone had carefully stitched a representation of this planet’s night sky there.

I had never noticed this before, and suddenly it became fascinating.

And then a beautiful brown-haired woman in a dark green gown was touching my face and saying my name. It took a few moments to recognize her and my surroundings.

“You fell asleep,” my adoptive sister said. “Tansy wishes to get your gown ready.”

“I think I can finish what Myranda started,” Tansy said, threading a needle. “I’m not nearly as good at this as she and don’t have much practice, but she’d already finished the hard parts.”

A soldier came bearing my now-spotless sword as well as Howland Reed’s, but he was of no help in stitching my gown. We didn’t need him. I could not tell the difference between Tansy’s stitches and Myranda’s; I looked beautiful in my purple gown, with its wide layered skirts and a plunging neckline held together by a lattice pattern of black laces. The inner sides of my breasts were visible, as well as my abdomen to a level just above where people of these planet had an odd indention called a “navel.” This apparently was where they had connected with their mother during gestation; having been hatched from an egg, I had no such reminder and Myranda had thought it wise not to reveal this lack.

My gown surely would have scandalized any women present at the feast, but other than Lady Barbrey, who was scandalized by my very existence, there would be no other highborn women there to see beyond my sister Tansy, Maege Mormont, my adoptive sister Lyra and Lady Jonelle Cerwyn. I hoped Lady Barbrey filled her hateful eyes to and beyond bursting.

Tansy had undone Lyra’s braids and brushed her hair while I slept; she now brushed mine and made me stay perfectly still while she outlined my eyes with dark circles of a powder she called “kohl.” It highlighted my dark red eyes and in the mirror they looked beautiful and exotic.

Lyra had helped Tansy into her gown and now rooted through the pile of shoes in the alcove where our gowns had hung, looking for something suitable that would fit us. I took a turn brushing my chosen sister’s hair as she sat before a mirror. It really was lovely hair; some long-extinct people of Barsoom had hair of this reddish-brown color but it does not exist among the current inhabitants. The women of this land usually wear their hair in braids, often done in intricate patterns, but all of the servants who might have done this for us had been sent away before the dragons came. I pulled Tansy’s hair back in the style of Helium, held across the top of her head with a gold-colored band I found near the mirror, and flowing loose across her shoulders behind. I could find no other such bands so Lyra and I simply wore ours loose, the way Tansy had brushed it.

My sister leaned back and looked up at me.

“I thought I would never see you again. Alive, anyway.”

“I was not sure myself. I sent Howland Reed to find you and take you into the caves of the dead beneath Winterfell. That was a terrible mistake on my part. I did not expect the dragon to chase after him.”

“So he died coming to save me.”

“That is not your fault,” I said. “He died on my command.”

“You thought of me first.”

“Yes. Always.”

“You fought a dragon,” she said, a tone of wonder in her voice. “To protect me.”

“Yes. For my sister.”

“No one has ever done anything like that for me, even close to that.”

“You did not have a sister then.”

I tipped her head gently forward with one finger and fluffed her hair.

“This is so shiny,” I said, “after a brushing.”

“For an old girl, I do clean up pretty. Let’s go show off.”

Lyra handed me a very fine pair of women’s shoes I had looted from a castle known as Last Hearth that had been inhabited by a family of very large people. They fit my unusually large feet quite well.

The three of us almost danced through the drab stone corridors; for a moment, the joy of dressing in lovely evening wear and the anticipation of dining and dancing shoved away the horrors of the day.

Davos Seaworth and Maege Mormont awaited us at the doors leading into Winterfell’s Great Hall.

“Girls, you look . . . incredible.”

“We have fine daughters, Davos, do we not?” Maege teased him. Lyra fell in beside her mother while Tansy and I each took one of the Onion Knight’s offered arms to enter the hall. He paused.

“Princess, you’re the hero tonight. Every lord will want a dance with you.”

“You will remind me of those I miss?”

“Of course. Do your people dance as we do?” I had not thought of this.

“We dance,” I said. “But perhaps my sisters should take the first dance so that I can watch?”

“That seems wise.”

He imagined how dancing might take place on my world, with several red-skinned women who otherwise looked like Tansy gyrating, their hips and breasts moving to a rapid drumbeat as they flung their clothing away. He was not far wrong, but we begin our dances already unclothed.

We entered the hall. The assembled crowd – about 200 people, almost all of them soldiers – rose and cheered.

I took my place at the center of what was called the high table, a long, wide table on a raised platform that took up the front of the hall. This was where we had found Myranda Royce after the murder and abduction of Sansa Stark. I tried to forget that memory for at least an evening.

Ser Davos was seated on my right, with Tansy on his right, and Lord Glover on my left, with Maege to his left and Lyra on the right next to Tansy; Ser Davos had balked at placing two Mormonts at the head table but Tansy had been insistent. I felt very comfortable in this company. The soldiers quieted and looked expectantly at me.

“They’re waiting for a speech,” Davos whispered.

I stood. Food had not yet been spread, so I lifted the goblet of wine that waited at my place and stepped onto the table in the manner of Helium. A few people chuckled; this apparently was not a custom in these lands. A long table extended from ours down the center of the hall. It was somewhat lower than our table and I stepped carefully onto it; it bore my weight.

“Soldiers!” I began. “Today we lost a pair of good friends.”

I slowly walked down the center of the table. Just the tiniest sway of my hips made my skirts swish back and forth as I moved. I loved my purple gown.

“Howland Reed saved my life after a Frey stabbed me in the back. He stood by me while I fought the Night’s King. And he faced the Dragon Queen without fear, buying the time for our explosive trap to take effect.

“He was my friend.”

I had their full attention; not a sound could be heard from the soldiers.

“Samwell Tarly was a man of words, not deeds. Yet he faced the dragons despite a desperate desire to be elsewhere.

“All of us are soldiers. We have fought, and we have survived. We know terror. We know that true courage is not the absence of fear, but the act of going forward even when terror’s icy grip stills your heart.”

Many heads now nodded.

“Samwell Tarley died a hero today. The dragons terrified him. He did not wish to face them. Yet he went through that gate, knowing that death awaited.

“He was my friend.”

I had reached the end of the table. I lifted my goblet high.

“Samwell Tarly. Howland Reed. Never forget them.”

I turned my goblet to its side and let the wine pour out onto the cut green plants covering the floor.

The soldiers rose to their feet with a roar, and poured out their own wine and ale. I allowed them to continue for a few moments, and then raised my arms for silence. They resumed their seats. Now I moved more swiftly back to my place, adding a little more swish to my steps this time.

“We have food. We have wine. Tonight we remember those lost, and celebrate a victory gained. Let us have music!”

The small group of musicians – two drummers and a man who played a tube called a flute, all of them Winterfell soldiers – took up a tune. Lord Glover offered a hand and I took it to climb back to my place.

“You truly are royalty,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “They would follow you anywhere. So would I.”

Galbart Glover was not married; in his thoughts he’d gladly have wed me but he knew I already had a husband. He preferred the company of men, but in this moment found me very desirable. Davos Seaworth patted my hand; his thoughts dwelt on his long-held desire that I take direct rule of the North.

“He’s right,” said the Onion Knight. “Any lord in Westeros would have proclaimed his own heroism. You shared it with them and made new heroes. They will love you for it.”

Food appeared. Winterfell had only a handful of cooks and no servants, so soldiers took turns bringing the dishes from the kitchens – simple roasted meats and potatoes for the most part. And a great deal of wine.

 _Restrain yourself,_ Tansy thought intensely. _Use your knife and your fork, not your hands. Don’t speak with food in your mouth._

I watched her out of the corner of my eye, using the utensils to delicately cut small pieces of meat and bring them to my mouth just as she did. I was so hungry, and it tortured me to leave such good food on the plate instead of picking it up and biting into it like a civilized person. I did not need to be reminded not to speak while eating; that is considered an unpardonable barbarity on my home planet.

A soldier poured more wine for me. He was a little clumsy, and I detected that he was nervous in my presence.

“You will have your chance to feast as well?” I asked.

“Yes, Princess. We’re trading off this duty. But it’s a pleasure to serve you. We arm-wrestled for the honor.”

“And you won?”

“That I did.”

I kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you,” I said. “The honor is mine.”

I remembered to sip my wine delicately, like a princess of this world, and greeted each of the Lords of the North as they came to congratulate me on the victory over the dragons. All but one of them. I in turn thanked them for their support, and emphasized the importance of working together to defend our land. They liked it when I called the North “our land.”

After the food was done, the soldiers moved the tables and the cut plants (now sodden with spilled drink and bits of food) to the sides of the hall to make room for dancing. Tansy and Lyra Mormont danced with two of the young lords and I watched them carefully. It was a very sedate and chaste dance, with little contact between the dancers other than holding hands at certain points. I now recalled that Lyra had shown me these steps, but Davos Seaworth had been right to warn me to watch first.

I rose to join them for the second dance. This time I walked around the high table rather than over it, and stopped before Mollen standing in the doorway watching the proceedings.

“Will you dance with me?”

“Princess, I . . . there are many lords here.”

“And many soldiers. I would dance with the foremost of them first.”

Mollen proved a very awkward dance partner, which helped mask my own discomfort, but I followed silent directions from Tansy as she danced with one of the young lords and managed not to embarrass myself or my partner. My sisters and I danced with all of the lords, usually switching partners in the middle of a song, and many of their younger relatives as well. I made sure to also include common soldiers as dance partners, and even danced with Walder the stable boy.

Taking a brief break, I leaned against one of the stone arches behind the high table and peeked over its edge to watch my sister dance. A young lord approached me, one of the Tallhart family from south-west of Winterfell. I did not know his name. He was pleasant looking, slightly shorter than I and very nervous as he spoke.

“Princess, I . . . that was . . . I mean . . .”

He desperately wanted to kiss me. I took him by the shoulders, turned to press him against the arch and kissed him, very hard. I parted his lips and ran my tongue along his. He whimpered. I released him and put my hand gently alongside his face.

“Few men are allowed to kiss a princess. Remember this.”

“I . . . I will.”

He stumbled away. I resumed my spot. No one appeared to have noticed. Except Lady Barbrey Dustin, whose disgust at my wantonness struck my mind like a wave on this planet’s ocean. I turned to see her glaring at me, and smiled back at her.

* * *

On the next morning, I rose and met with Galbart Glover and Davos Seaworth over First Meal, leaving my sisters to sleep. It had been a very enjoyable evening, and I was grateful to have finally had a chance to wear my purple gown. Seven different drunken men asked to marry me; three of them asked to marry both Tansy and I together and one asked for Lyra’s hand as well. But I was already married, and apparently unlike my husband, I still kept that vow as it applied on his world.

I now wore one of the simple brown dresses we had acquired; it still felt odd to have cloth rub against my skin but I refused to wear the binding “smallclothes” underneath my dress. My species of human has a high body temperature compared to the people of this world and we do not sweat; I cannot wear the clothing of this place for long without overheating. I had cut the sleeves off my dress and though the edges were somewhat ragged at least I retained my freedom of movement and at least some air flow across my skin.

A table had been piled with bacon and the small round loaves of bread known as biscuits. And they had the wonderful Summer Isles drink known as coffee.

“You know what I’m going to ask you again,” Ser Davos began as I split a biscuit to stuff it with butter and bacon.

“I do. And you know that I will not play the game of thrones.”

“Princess,” Galbart Glover tried his luck. “You said yourself that Daenerys’ husband will seek revenge, and commands hordes of Dothraki screamers. That puts the North in grave danger. We are a divided land. But you saw it last night. These men will follow you.”

“All two hundred of them.”

“They will tell others,” Lord Glover said. “Word will spread, and your legend will grow.”

“They followed the Starks for centuries,” I said. “Longer, in their legends. Yet many of them fought against Sansa Stark; I have not forgotten the heaps of Northmen I slew in her name.”

“Old Lord Rickard Stark, Ned’s father, made a grave error,” Galbart Glover allowed, “marrying his children outside the North, and Ned compounded it. Yet we no longer live in those times.”

“Princess, you are not of any house,” Davos Seaworth picked up the argument. “There will be jealousy between the houses if anyone else is chosen to lead the North. But not if you are the leader. You don’t even have to be Queen.”

I had heard my grandfather make a similar argument regarding John Carter, when members of the Advisory Council spoke against my marriage to the outlander.

“I am a daughter of House Mormont,” I said, pointing to my exposed shoulder. “I bear the mark of a Shield Maiden of Bear Island. I will not relinquish that honor. And so there will be jealousy among the houses.”

“You’ve commanded Northern troops in battle before,” Lord Glover said. “Including mine.”

“I have always said that I will help in times of danger.”

“The death of Daenerys puts the North in danger.”

Lord Glover was right. By killing Daenerys, I had endangered them all. I drank more coffee and split another biscuit.

“You are correct,” I said. “I killed Daenerys and thereby put the North in danger. I will not shirk my duty.”

I paused for still more coffee. I liked this drink very much. We had nothing like it on Barsoom.

“Daenerys married the leader of the Dothraki,” I continued. “When he lands in Westeros, if he has not already, I will go south and face him. If I cannot turn him away from the North, I will return and lead your armies. But not as Queen. Is that acceptable?”

I had glossed over a few facts, like the identity of the Dothraki leader. And then, as a well-trained princess, I changed the subject.

“What shall be done with the dead dragons?”

“Burning them in place is probably the best course,” Lord Glover said. “Without Maester Samwell, we have no way of knowing if their flesh is wholesome to eat.”

“My sister studied the texts alongside Samwell Tarly,” I said, slightly annoyed that her knowledge was ignored due to her gender. “But I agree that we should burn the meat rather than eat it. Daenerys, her herald and Tyrion Lannister as well. And her head.”

“I’ll issue the orders,” Ser Davos said.

“I would like to keep the dragon skulls,” Lord Glover interjected. “We should mount them in the Great Hall of Winterfell.”

Daenerys Targaryen had been certain that John Carter would seek retribution for her death, and I well knew that his vengeance could be terrible. I wanted my friends – my people, now – to be safe.

“It would not be wise to taunt the leader of the Dothraki,” I said. “Can you not secure the skulls somewhere, perhaps in the caves of the dead, to bring them forth when this danger has passed?”

They did not understand my fear and felt it foolish, but gave in out of love and respect.

* * *

Tansy joined me just as Davos and Lord Glover departed, and after she ate, we returned to our chambers. In the corridor outside them we encountered the unpleasant Lady Barbrey and her grey-cowled maester; they were rushing along heedlessly and she ran into me, falling to the floor. Her companion quickly knelt by her side.

“A shame,” she spat at me, “that that dragon missed its chance to clean up this castle.”

“You wished to see me die.”

Lady Barbrey stood with her companion’s help. She was shorter than I, a somewhat fleshy woman of early middle age with large breasts and curly brown hair streaked with gray. When she climbed to her feet, her skirts shifted briefly to reveal rather thick legs.

“Of course I did. You are an abomination, you and this whore ‘sister’ of yours. By the gods I hate hearing you two call each other sister. Have you tainted that sweet Cassel girl yet? You just lust for those sweet, firm young breasts, don’t you?”

“Dejah saved every living soul in Westeros from the Others,” Tansy said. “She saved everyone in Winterfell – including you – from Daenerys and her dragons. Why do you hate us so?”

“You are filth,” Lady Barbrey said. “She doesn’t belong here and you should not even speak to me, bastard whore.”

Tansy slapped her across the face.

“Lady Barbrey is a member of the Council of the North,” her companion said. “You cannot harm her.”

“Watch me.” Tansy slapped Barbrey Dustin again.

“I’ll see you hang for that, whore,” Lady Barbrey said. “You both deserve death.”

“That is not likely,” I said. “Do you wish me to kill more of your relations in trial by combat?”

“Who in the seven hells are you?” Tansy demanded of the stranger.

“I am Maester Lucas, sworn to Lady Barbrey’s service,” he replied haughtily. “There are rules of conduct to be followed, and you two flout nearly all of them. Lady Barbrey merely wishes to restore order.”

“By murdering us?” Tansy asked in an incredulous tone.

“It is a capital crime for one woman to lay with another.”

“No it isn’t,” Tansy shot back. “You just made that up.”

“It’s only right that you two be put to death,” he answered. “And the Cassel girl if you have corrupted her as well. She has the look of one corrupted.”

I recognized the thought patterns of this Maester Lucas. He had been present at Castle Cerwyn when my sister and I had first ridden north with Howland Reed and the Mormonts, and had urged Lady Jonelle Cerwyn to break the “guest right” that the Northerners held sacred and murder us all under her roof.

“I know what you did at Castle Cerwyn,” I said. “The next time I see you, I shall kill you.”

“Monstrous lies,” he said. “And in any event a maester only gives advice, for which he may not be penalized.”

“And what is the penalty,” I asked, “when a maester breaks his vow of celibacy?”

“I have done no such thing.”

“You had sex with Barbrey Dustin just before you rushed down this corridor. You pushed her against the desk of the castle solar and inserted your sex organ into her, but she only pretended to receive orgasm. You have been lovers for years, even defiling the scriptorium where copies are made. And you are eager for it again. The thought of killing us arouses you both.”

“You have no standing to make such accusations,” Lady Barbrey said. “No one will believe you, about any of this. My conscience is clear. You don’t belong here. Go back to whatever hell spat you forth.”

I considered killing them both on the spot, but I had promised not to do such things without asking Lyra or Tansy first.

“You will yet suffer by my hand, Dejah Thoris,” Barbrey Dustin continued, smugly. “You and all of your whore-sisters.

“And the shame you’ve brought on Ser Rodrik’s memory. Beth Cassel should be married with babies by now, not running around with a pretend princess showing off her firm high tits and waving a sword.”

“You seem very interested in the firmness of my sister’s breasts,” I said, placing my hand on Lady Barbrey’s upper chest and pressing her back against the wall. “Should you attempt to speak to me or my sisters again, or spread lies about us to anyone else, I will kill you as I did your brothers.”

Her fall had disordered her clothing, leaving visible a thin silver chain that had been buried deep beneath the complicated layers. I hooked one finger under it and pulled it free to reveal a silver wolf’s head, the same emblem as that of House Stark, dangling from it.

“You loved a Stark,” I said, reading it in her thoughts. “He is long dead, but you love him still, yet hate him for leaving you. You are a deeply pitiable woman, Barbrey.”

We strode away, and again I wished for an excuse to plunge my sword into Lady Barbrey’s ample chest as I had since our first encounter. She had been filled with hate for many years before we ever met and had wished for my death and that of my sister solely out of envy. I never fully understood this, though I suspected that she felt cheated of the chance to murder the last of the Stark family and blamed me for allowing death to claim Arya and Sansa before she could do so herself.

Unpleasant as it would have been to enter her twisted mind, I should have questioned her more closely. She seemed very satisfied that she had done me some great harm and I knew not what that might be. Had she actually done so, or only fantasized of it? I would come to regret my oversight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris must face a wife and a daughter.


	87. Chapter Sixty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris makes a confession.

Chapter Sixty-Two (Dejah Thoris)

Tansy’s raven returned that afternoon, seeking news. Tansy wrote out a note for him to take to Beth Cassel, telling her to bring her charges to meet us at Deepwood Motte, the castle of Galbart Glover. I watched her send off the raven, unsure what to tell her but knowing that I had to speak.

“Tansy,” I said.

“What is it?”

“I did something. Before the dragons came.”

“Who did you kill this time?”

“No one. I kissed Beth Cassel. Deeply. Twice. And I touched her breast.”

“Oh,” she said, sitting on the bed next to me. “Do you love her? No, forget I asked that. Of course you love her. So do I.”

She ran her finger along my leg, pushing the hem of my brown dress up over my knee. I enjoyed her touch.

“Do you want to lay with her?”

“Receive orgasm through her?”

“Yes.”

“I would not mind,” I said, “but I am completely satisfied receiving it through you.”

This was not entirely true. I found Beth’s desire for me arousing, and I had fantasized about engaging sex with her.

“You can read her thoughts,” Tansy said, “more easily than mine.”

“This is true.”

“So it might be more intense with her.”

“I am not sure that I could stand it, were it more intense than receiving orgasm through you. But she lacks your experience; I do not know that she could guide me to her pleasure centers as do you.”

She kept playing with my dress, thinking.

“I want to be jealous,” she said. “Even angry. I told you I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. And that’s true. But I do love Beth; she’s our sister and I couldn’t bear losing her.”

“Nor could I. I did not mean to upset you. I believed that I would die soon, and I was filled with love for her and the belief that I would never see her again.”

“That’s exactly how I felt about you,” she said, nodding, “just one day ago.”

“I should not have done so. Not only because of you, but because she is damaged. I love Beth and do not wish to harm her further.”

“I know you do. What will you do when we see her again?”

“Will it upset you if I kiss her?”

“Maybe a little.”

“I love you no less.”

“That’s the way of your people,” she said. “But not the way of mine.”

“I cannot force my ways on you.”

“Well, no, but they sure seem like they’re more fun than ours. Can I kiss her too?” Tansy meant to be playful, to lighten my mood, yet I felt it take a darker turn.

“That is between the two of you. It would not disturb me. It would please me, that each of you had someone.”

“I have you, and our sisters. Are you planning on leaving?”

“No,” I said. “But we are not always the ones to choose.”

Lyra and Maege entered our chambers before I could say more.

“I hope we didn’t interrupt,” Maege said. “You seem troubled.”

Maege pulled a chair close to the bed to face us. I knew that I displayed far fewer facial expressions than most people here, a side-effect of my people’s reliance on telepathy, but Maege had always been able to read the minimal cues on my face. Lyra sat next to me on the bed, on the opposite side from Tansy, and took my hand in both of hers.

“We were discussing one thing,” Tansy said. “A happy thing, I thought. And then she became upset. I didn’t think I said anything troubling.”

“You did not,” I said. “I have a great deal on my mind.”

“And you have us to share the burden,” Maege said. “What happened out there, with Daenerys?”

“You saw. She told her dragons to murder Samwell and Howland. I failed to stop the dragons. I killed her friends, and then I took her head.”

“None of my daughters have ever been able to lie to me. That includes you two. What did you read in her mind before you killed her?”

My throat tightened, rendering me incapable of speech, and I began to cry quietly. I looked down at the floor and tried to think of how to answer. I wanted to tell Maege, I wanted her comfort. But if I said it out loud it would become real.

“Has she told you?” Maege asked Tansy.

“I thought she had,” Tansy said, hesitating to say more.

“Spill it,” Maege said. “We can’t help her if we don’t know. There’s nothing you could say that I wouldn’t accept.”

“She kissed Beth, and feared I would be jealous.”

“Were you?”

“A little,” Tansy said. “I can get over it. Then she started to talk about not being with either of us, as though she were leaving or dying. Then you came in.”

Lyra and Tansy moved closer to me on either side, wrapping me in their warmth.

“Dejah,” Maege said. “You’re a daughter of House Mormont. Nothing you tell me can change that. We face our fears head on, like the she-bears that we are. And we face them together. Tell us what happened.”

Lyra handed me a cleaning cloth. I used it to blow my nose, very loudly.

“Daenerys Targaryen was married.”

“You mentioned that.”

“To John Carter.”

“Oh,” three voices responded together.

I slowly breathed in and out, taking command of my emotions. Eventually I felt that I could speak.

“I saw them together in her mind. He leads the Dothraki. He rides a dragon. She loved him, and he returned her love. She rode him and she received orgasm.”

“Are you sure?” Maege asked. “Was it memory, or fantasy?”

“Memory. They have a different . . . taste. She believed it to be real.”

I began to cry again.

“He has forgotten me, and loves another. I knew that he did not love me, but now I have killed his love. I know his mind. He will avenge her. I have put all of you in great danger.”

Maege stood, pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in her arms. I am not a small woman, but I felt myself a hatchling within her embrace.

“Cry now, sweetling. Let it out. And then the time for crying is done.”

And so I did.

“This is why we Mormont women mate with bears,” Maege said over my shoulder.

“You don’t mate with bears,” Tansy said. “We met the bear, remember?”

“No, we don’t mate with bears. But it sounds better than, ‘we roll some stable lad in the hay when we feel like it.’”

“I’m not so sure that it does,” Tansy said.

I did feel better. Somehow, I had found a family on this planet, even though we of Barsoom do not forge family bonds as strong as these people or John Carter’s. Whatever innate desire causes these connections should have been much weaker in me, yet I had surrounded myself with people who loved me. So far, I had done little to justify their love beyond killing a great many people, though in my defense most of those I had slain were bad.

“What about Beth?” I asked.

“We all love her,” Maege said. “I trust you to do what’s in her interest.”

“It does not bother you?”

“Between two daughters I birthed, it would,” she said. “I lay with Tormund. And yes, I’ve lain with women.” I felt Lyra give a start, but Maege paid no attention. “I’m in no position to judge you.”

“They kill women who love women.”

“I chose you to be my daughter,” Maege said. “I don’t regret it. I love all of my daughters, and I want each of you to be happy.”

Princess Heru, my own mother, loved me. But the mother-daughter relationship is not the same on Barsoom as it is here; Heru would never have thought to seek me out to give comfort unless I asked her to do so. Partly, I am sure, that has to do with our reliance on telepathy in communication: Heru would have known of my distress and my needs, while Maege had to guess. She had once again guessed correctly.

* * *

I slept uneasily that night; with Tansy and Lyra each nestled close alongside me I felt the warm comfort we of Barsoom crave. Sleeping together – we do not use the term as a euphemism for sex – reminds us of our times as a hatchling in the crèche with many other young ones, and gives us reassurance in periods of stress.

Overnight, the Winterfell garrison built funeral pyres for Howland Reed and Samwell Tarly in the courtyard. Daenerys, her head, Tyrion Lannister and the un-named herald had been flung into one of the large fires burning outside the gates without ceremony; soldiers with large axes steadily hacked the dragons into pieces and burned their flesh as well.

We awoke and cleaned ourselves, dressed in our House Mormont colors and went down to the courtyard. Tormund Giantsbane had also arrived overnight, and he clasped me tightly in a wordless embrace. When everyone had assembled, murmuring quietly but mostly saying nothing at all, Tormund strode forward to stand at the head of Samwell’s pyre. Tansy and Lyra stood close to either side of me and each took hold of my hand.

Tormund spoke over the corpse of my friend Samwell Tarly, and then Maege did the same for the corpse of my friend Howland Reed. Their bodies had been wrapped in white coverings, and padded to hide how much of them had been burned away. I had spoken of them easily during the celebratory feast, but now I found my mind wrapped in anxiety and unfocused emotions.

I heard little of what Tormund and Maege said; mostly I stared at the ground or at the burning piles of wood and flesh. I had brought about the deaths of my friends by failing to act promptly in ending the clear threat posed by the insane Daenerys Targaryen. Had I doomed even more of my friends – my sisters – by impulsively slaying the silver princess afterwards?

Yet unlike the aftermath of Sansa Stark’s final death, I detected no thoughts blaming me for the fiery end of Howland and Samwell. Tormund believed that his adopted son had died what he called “a good death,” sacrificing himself heroically to save others. Many who had been watching from the walls believed, possibly correctly, that Howland Reed had purposely led the dragon on a chase across the open ground so that I could attack it from behind. By so doing, he had saved the people of Winterfell, for once its brother had been killed Daenerys would surely have directed the remaining dragon to burn the castle and all within it.

No one objected to my killing Daenerys and her friends, nor to the manner of their deaths.

There are no gods, and there is no afterlife. The strong and good spirits of Howland Reed and Samwell Tarly were gone forever, and I had no one but myself to blame. I had killed so many people on impulse, and the one time I needed to act, I had hesitated. I gripped the hands of my sisters more tightly. I would not fail again.

* * *

We had no more celebrations, though Lyra and I dined quietly with Tormund, his son Toregg and son-by-law Ryk; they had thankfully left Toregg’s wife Val behind in Queenscrown. “Dining quietly” in this case meant securing our own table in the Great Hall along with a huge platter of roasted sheep, known as mutton, and copious amounts of ale.

Our friends told us of their progress in repairing the little castle and the surrounding buildings, gathering wandering livestock and securing winter food supplies from abandoned castles, farms and holdfasts. Toregg proudly announced that Val carried his child.

“That,” he told me, smiling broadly, “should make things easier for you.”

“How is that?”

“A babe will occupy Val’s mind,” he said. “Take the little flower back to your island. Let her raise Mance’s child there as her own.”

I had avoided thinking of Gilly’s fate. Toregg was correct; I had a responsibility to my Free Folk friend.

“Let my crow brother’s son become a bear,” he continued. “It’s worked out well for you.”

I nodded.

“Thank you,” I said. “I do not wish conflict.”

“None of us do,” Tormund said, not employing his usual bluff persona. “This is a time for building and breeding, not fighting.”

He told me that a small number of Free Folk survivors had filtered into Queenscrown, perhaps a hundred in all who had hidden from the walking dead and made their way south. Teams that Tormund had sent out to gather food sometimes came back with people as well. The Wall had ceased to melt as the weather again grew colder, but he hoped to find more such wanderers.

“We’ll be the first in line should evil return,” he said. “That’s why the kneelers wanted us there, no doubt.”

“How long do you believe this winter will last?” I asked.

“Don’t feel right,” Tormund said, regaining some of his bluster. “Har! Maybe not long at all.”

His son and son-by-law nodded.

“Why not?” Lyra asked.

“You’re half She-Bear, half Free Folk, daughter. You have to feel it too.”

“Feel what?”

“Well,” Tormund drew out the word. “More like not feeling it. The urge for the long sleep. Animals, they sleep for the Winter. Everyone knows. People, they feel it too, even though the long sleep kills us. I’m not feeling it.”

“Hunting’s still good,” Toregg said. “In a normal Winter, the bigger prey’d be harder to come by.”

“When the weather clears,” Tormund said, “these two be heading north of the Wall, to see that the Others are truly gone, and if any Free Folk yet live. Would like to see you two go with them.”

“Us?” Lyra asked.

“You’re my daughter!” Tormund said, as though this explained all. “And your sister here, she’s the bane of all evil creatures.”

“And most good ones as well,” I added.

“Har! Right true enough.”

Tormund did not intend insult, so I said nothing about his ready agreement.

“We have another task to complete first,” I said. Lyra looked at me, I nodded. We could trust these men with our plan.

“Task?” Tormund asked.

“House Frey killed my sister Dacey,” Lyra said. “We plan to kill them. All of them.”

“My daughter as well, was she not?”

“Yes.”

“I would go with you,” Toregg said, “and avenge the sister I never knew.”

I started slightly, hearing him echo the same words I had used to describe Dacey Mormont.

“I would go as well,” Ryk added. “She was not of my blood, but we’ll not see many chances now to slaughter kneelers in their castle. And to fight alongside the Daughter of the Red Star . . . that’s how legends are made.”

I pondered their offer, knowing that many of the Bear Islanders hated the Free Folk.

“We’ve both scaled the Wall,” Toregg said. “More than once. Free-hand, no ropes. A castle wall’s nothing next to that.”

He spoke the truth. Those skills could be highly useful; I only had confidence in my own ability to go over the castle walls without detection.

“You will obey my orders,” I said. “Without question.”

“Or you’ll kill us,” Toregg said. “Aye, we’re wild, but we understand that part.”

“Speak of this to no one,” I said. “We will send you a message by raven when we are ready.”

“Har!” Tormund bellowed like his old self. “None of us read your Southron scratchings.”

“We’ll send you a picture of a bear,” Lyra said. “Come here to Winterfell when you receive it, and we’ll have sent Ser Davos word on where you should meet us.”

* * *

Lord Glover came with us back to his castle, and we had an easy ride through the forest known as the Wolfswood. Already leaves had begun to drop from the trees in anticipation of Winter’s return; Jory later explained that some trees, known as “evergreens,” never lost their leaves. That seemed odd, but she clarified that they did drop them, just not all at once like other types.

When we reached Deepwood Motte, a raven had already brought news of the defeat of Daenerys and her dragons. It apparently had not told of our own losses; Gilly Tarly awaited me at the castle’s gate alongside Trisha, Gendry, Jory and Beth. Meera Reed stood slightly behind them.

Gendry strode forward as soon as I dismounted and wrapped me in a powerful hug. My little sister Jory followed as soon as he let me go and Beth Cassel took her turn. She lingered in my arms for a moment. I very much wanted to kiss her.

“Safe with you,” she said softly.

“Safe with you, too.”

And then Gilly stood before me.

“Sam?” she asked.

My throat closed and I could not speak. I simply shook my head. She threw herself at me and I held her while she cried, great sobs racking her body.

“The dragon?” she finally said.

“Yes,” I said. “Daenerys ordered it to burn us. He gave his life to save mine.”

That was close enough to the truth, I decided; I had had time to hit the ground because the dragon burned Samwell Tarly first.

“He never wanted to be brave, but he was anyway. He faced a White Walker to save me and Little Sam. He looked up to you, you know.”

She sobbed again. I looked past her at Meera Reed, who held my gaze with her large, dark green eyes.

“I know,” she said softly, knowing that I would understand through her thoughts. I gestured for her to come closer, as I did not wish to release Gilly.

“I am sorry,” I said. “It was my fault.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said. “Gilly needs you now.”

I took Gilly by the hand and walked with her along the ditch surrounding Deepwood Motte’s walls. No one followed us. I took in this planet’s strange beauty again – a clear bright blue sky, the leaves of the trees turned red, orange and gold, the steep gray rocky hillsides in the near distance and purple mountains beyond.

“I admired him as well,” I finally said. “We would not have understood the dragons without him. And he honored my sister without questioning her birth, or that I call her sister. That meant a great deal to me.”

“What’ll become of me? And Little Sam? We doesn’t belong here, and we can’t go to the Free Folk, not with Val there and Sam dead.”

“You may come with us to Bear Island and remain as long as you wish. There is always a place for you with me. Lady Mormont will not deny me this.”

“What about Val, and our agreement?”

“I do not care about Val,” I said. “She can visit Little Sam on the island, she can tend to her own child she now bears, or she can visit the mythical place known as hell and remain there. You are under my protection, and I am very protective.”

“What’ll I do there? Work in your kitchen?”

She understood “place” to mean a servant’s position. That had not been my intent.

“Only if you wish it. Samwell died to save me. I would honor him through you. You are my honored guest for as long as you wish.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve always worked. I doesn’t mind working.”

“You can talk to Jeyne or Tansy about that on another day. Raise your son to honor his father, to be wise and brave. That is your work now.”

“I’m so lucky to have met you, Princess.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Had she never met me, she would still have her husband. Samwell Tarly had not wanted to face the dragon and I took him with me anyway. I had killed his brother of the heart and his brother of the egg, and now I had caused his death as well. I had robbed Gilly of a husband who loved her.

Part of me was glad he had made that fatal walk lest Lyra insist on going with me in his place, and I was ashamed. I still had my sister; Gilly was alone, among the last of the Free Folk and now widowed besides. We were very similar, Gilly and I, except that none of what had happened was Gilly’s fault.

* * *

We returned to the gates where Tansy took charge of Gilly, leaving me to face Meera Reed, who spoke quietly with Lyra. The others drifted away to leave the three of us alone.

“Lyra told me,” she said. “None of it was your fault.”

“She was on the wall,” I said. “She loves me, and sees what she wishes to see. I knew that Daenerys was insane, from her thoughts. I knew that I should kill her. I let the moment pass, and your father died for my failure.”

“My father gave his life to lure the second dragon into chasing him, so you could kill it,” she said. “And keep the Mad Queen from finding the last of the Starks. My mother, my brother and me.”

“That would not have been necessary,” I said, “had I slain Daenerys when I knew that I should.”

“Which,” she said, “if Lyra is correct, came while the first dragon still lived.”

She stepped forward and reached up to place her hands on my shoulders; she was much shorter than I.

“Princess, you don’t have to invent reasons to blame yourself. It’s just not true. Don’t lessen my father’s sacrifice by calling it a mistake. We all think the sun turns about us, but it’s not always about you. He was a man grown and knew what choice he made.”

She meant what she said; she did not believe I required forgiveness, for I had done no wrong. I did not agree, but decided that it would be discourteous to argue. I embraced her, which she returned, and then went to look after my mare.

My mare had stood quietly awaiting me while I spoke with Gilly and Meera, and she followed me into the stable so I could tend to her needs; Jory and Lyra had already put away our other horses, but I had asked them to leave mine as I knew I would treasure the solace of brushing her after dealing with Gilly and Meera.

I removed her saddle and tack, and soon felt my tensions ease as I brushed her neck; she twisted her head as I hit a pleasurable spot. I felt Beth’s thoughts approach as she slipped into the stall, and then ducked under my mare’s neck to stand between me and my horse.

“Kiss me,” she said. So I did, pressing her back against my horse’s flank. Amused, my mare held her ground while Beth and I both moaned. I had wanted this from the moment I saw her standing by the castle gates. The affirmation of life I received from her thoughts, and her tongue, did a great deal to relieve my dark mood.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she whispered when we finally broke away.

“So am I.”

“I knew you’d be back.”

“I did not.”

She leaned forward, her head tilted, and I kissed her again. I stroked the side of her face and she tentatively placed her own hand on the side of my breast. I placed my hand over it.

“I am glad,” I said, “that I am.”

Beth Cassel helped me finish caring for my horse, and we walked back into the castle, holding hands as we did so. Women of these lands often did this with friends, so no one looked askance at us.

“Lady Barbrey believes that I have corrupted you,” I said softly.

“Not yet,” she answered. “But hopefully soon.”

Lady Sybelle had prepared a feast on hearing of our visit, and insisted on seating Gilly next to her at the Great Hall’s so-called “high table.” I had the place to Gilly’s right, with Jory to mine.

“Lady Gilly, you’ve noticed that our castle is built of wood,” she said, hushing Gilly’s objections to taking the place of honor. “What that dragon would have done here . . . we owe your husband our lives. Allow us to honor him through you.”

“I’m no lady.”

“Lady Gilly,” Sybelle repeated as though lecturing, though she actually felt very affectionate toward my friend. “Samwell Tarly was heir to Horn Hill, and therefore a lord. And he was adopted son of the new Lord of Queenscrown, and thus a lord twice over. You’re entitled to the courtesy, and I mean it sincerely.”

“I’d like it if you called me Gilly.”

“Then I shall. And you shall call me Sybelle.”

Gilly and Sybelle got on very well through the meal, and I enjoyed Jory’s company. In the morning we rode out for Deepwood Port, arriving in the early afternoon, in time to sail on the evening tide. Meera Reed had asked Maege for permission to come with us to Bear Island, which my adoptive mother had immediately granted.

The Glovers rode to the port with us, and stood on the small dock to see us aboard.

“You’re always welcome here,” Sybelle told Gilly. Her husband and brother by-law nodded.

“I promised the princess I’d join her on the island,” Gilly said. “But I’m grateful, truly I am.”

She wished to put open water between herself and Val, who coveted her child, and for this I did not blame her. I would ask Lord Glover to forbid Val passage from Deepwood Port to Bear Island. Hopefully Toregg was correct and Val would transfer her passion to her own child.

Our passage went uneventfully; though the water had become gray and choppy I found myself adjusting. While I still puked, I did far less damage to my own clothing despite the stronger, swirling winds threatening to blow the foulness back onto me. I even managed to sleep in the captain’s bed, known as a “bunk,” without befouling it or my sisters cuddled around me.

Ravens had informed those on the island that the dragons had been defeated, and my adoptive sister Alysane had organized a welcome for us in the Keep’s Great Hall. Many of the chieftains we had met on our island tour came to celebrate, along with the people of the Keep and Mormont Port and several of Maege’s old comrades, tough women clad in the leather and furs she favored. Even Lyanna the Little Bear, who had deeply disapproved of my adoption, seemed happy to see us return.

I brought Gilly to meet Jeyne Poole, who sat alone at one of the tables catching her breath after several dances. I could not have imagined her dancing when we first met.

“You saved us again,” Jeyne said when she saw me. “I’m so sorry for what I said and did.”

“Do not think of it,” I said. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything for you, Princess.”

“Gilly is my special friend,” I explained. “Her husband gave his life to save mine. She was born north of the Wall and knows little of the ways of the North or Westeros.”

Beth joined us. She felt even more protective of Gilly since the death of Samwell.

“I can do kitchen work,” Gilly said. “And wash clothes. I tended animals, rabbits mostly. And chickens.”

Tansy took the place next to Gilly and placed a wooden cup of wine in front of her.

“You’re our friend,” she said, then turned to Jeyne. “Gilly needs to live in the Keep with us.”

Jeyne stared into empty space, thinking.

“Lady in waiting,” she finally said. “To all of the grown Mormont daughters.”

“What’s that?” Gilly asked. “I don’t know nothing about being no lady.”

“Neither do they,” Jeyne laughed. She had never laughed either, when I first met her. “At least not these two. Beth does, when she wants to.”

“It is not a servant’s position?” I asked.

“No,” Jeyne said. “A lady in waiting is held in higher honor; I was one to Sansa, you’ll recall. Gilly will accompany you at meals and social occasions, help you dress, tend to your clothing.”

“We have little clothing.”

“Well,” Jeyne said, “there are six of you, not counting Lyanna or the raven.”

“I can tend to weapons, too,” Gilly said. “And armor.”

“Trisha is my steward and does this for me,” I said. “But there is always work for the ladies of Mormont Keep.”

“I’ll find chambers for you,” Jeyne told Gilly, “as close to the Mormont daughters as possible.”

“She could have mine,” Beth said, “and I could join Dejah and Tansy. If that’s all right?”

I said nothing, wishing Tansy’s approval.

“You’re there most of the time anyway,” Tansy said. “It would be fun. And I know Dejah would like that.”

“I would,” I said. “I would like that very much.”

* * *

I spoke with Maege’s old friends, all of them retired Shield Maidens I had met before, and drank a great deal of ale with them. The soldiers also wished to welcome me home, along with many others. Somehow, I had gained the love of these people, and I returned it in full.

Jory made sure to introduce Meera Reed to the Keep and its people, and brought her to see me as I drank with the Shield Maidens.

“Princess,” Jory said, “Meera would like to return and train at arms with us, after she goes back to . . .”

“To take my father’s bones home,” Meera completed what Jory had not wished to say aloud. “And tell my mother and brother of his death.”

“I should be there as well,” I said, almost again claiming it to be my fault but recalling Meera’s words at Deepwood Motte. “I was with him at the very end.”

“I think my mother would like you to visit,” Meera said. “And tell her. But not now. This is for our family.”

I nodded, only partially mollified. Meera Reed was correct; I desperately wished to shoulder the blame for Howland Reed’s death, for selfish reasons connected to my own insecurities. As she had said, none of us are the center of the universe, as much as we might believe that.

“When you are ready,” I said, “I will gladly train you in fighting skills. You are always welcome in my home; my adoptive mother will not deny me this.”

Maege soon sent Trisha to summon me for Evening Meal, to be attended by all six adult daughters and Gilly. The chieftains and Maege’s warrior women continued to feast, with Trisha taking my seat among the Shield Maidens, but Maege wished to discuss the castle onslaught against House Frey immediately. I knew my friend Gilly would not shy away from talk of violence. But mostly, I did not wish to hide from her the truths I needed to share with Aly, Jory and Beth. After we had cleared the dishes from the table, I asked her to stay with us.

“Gilly,” I began, “there are some things that you need to know. That not all of my sisters yet know.”

“You doesn’t have to,” she said. “I’m just grateful to you, to Lady Mormont, for taking us in.”

“You shared your deepest secret with me. I have not done the same with you.”

“You’re a princess,” Gilly said. “You can tell me whatever you like, or not.”

“First,” I said, “all of my sisters know that I can understand the thoughts of others.”

“I knew you wasn’t like the rest of us. You know what we’re thinking?”

“If I concentrate, yes. But it feels as though hundreds or thousands of people are shouting at me, all the time. So I usually block them out.”

“That’s how you always knew who you could trust, and who you couldn’t.”

“That is correct,” I said. “Please speak of this to no one.”

“Lady-in-waiting means keeper-of-secrets,” Gilly said. “That’s what Jeyne says.”

“There is more,” I said, “that Maege, Tansy and Lyra already know. I came to these lands in search of my husband, John Carter. I learned from Daenerys that he leads the Dothraki, the wild horse-warriors of the Eastern Continent.”

“How would she know?” Beth asked.

“She married him.”

“Is that why you killed her?” Aly asked.

I hesitated.

“Dejah,” Beth said, leaning across the table toward me. “I respect you more than anyone I’ve ever known. You can tell us the truth.”

I looked at the table instead of meeting Beth Cassel’s dark blue eyes. It had been polished to a very smooth shine.

“Partially. She was insane and had already murdered hundreds of people. The Lords of the North had agreed that she had to die, and she had killed Howland Reed and Samwell Tarly. But I had already killed her dragons. I could have taken her as a prisoner.

“I am not proud of what I did. I should have told you. I was shocked, and shamed. She took my husband.”

“And you took her head,” Beth said.

“Yes.”

“The Lords of the North agreed on her fate,” Lyra said. “You only carried out their will.”

“I wanted her to die.”

“I’m sure you did,” Lyra said. “So did I. And of course you knew her words to be true.”

“Yes, I read her thoughts. I saw her memories of my husband giving her orgasm. And then I sliced off her head.”

“Dejah,” Beth said again, softly. “Look at me.”

I did.

“I would die for you. So would every woman at this table.”

“I know,” I choked out.

“Well, I’m glad you cut that little bitch’s head off,” Gilly snarled, “and killed her gods-damned dragons.” She caught herself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say such things at the lady’s table.”

“No, dear,” Maege said. “She murdered your husband. You’re entitled. And I’m the one who said Daenerys had to die, who voiced the will of the Lords.”

“Dejah,” Lyra said, “how could John Carter marry another?”

“He may have forgotten me,” I said. “He sometimes forgets his past. Or he may have tired of me. In our lands, we can end a marriage. He may have wished to marry a woman who could satisfy him sexually.

“My presence may be a danger to you all.”

“Last I heard,” Aly said, “The Dothraki still hadn’t taught their horses to swim. If they had a fleet, Daenerys wouldn’t have come alone.”

“I know John Carter,” I said. “He will seek vengeance on his wife’s killer. On me.”

“And we won’t be separated from our sister,” Aly shot back. “Here we stand. That includes you.”

“Do you wish to return to Winterfell?” I asked Gilly. “Now that you know of this danger?”

“No,” she said, firmly. “I can’t fight for you, but I won’t leave you, neither. You’re my princess and I’m your lady in waiting, and that’s how it is.”

“John Carter is a long way from here,” Maege said. “As I told you when we found that Rolston was spying on you, you’re my daughter. We won’t abandon you.”

“I am your daughter,” I repeated. “And proud to be so.”

“Are you fit to resume planning for the attack on the Twins?”

“It will occupy my mind,” I said. “And that will probably be helpful.”

“Please do,” Maege said. “All conditions as we had already decided.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris plans a castle onslaught.


	88. Chapter Sixty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris kisses a girl. Again.

Chapter Sixty-Three (Dejah Thoris)

Lyra and Jory accompanied us to our chambers, and Jory helped Gilly settle Little Sam for the night as the rest of us sat before the fire. Tansy sat behind me on our wide seat while I nestled on the bearskin with Lyra and Beth on either side of me.

“You knew?” Beth asked Lyra.

“A little,” Lyra said. “She told us the bare outline in Winterfell, but didn’t speak of it again until just now.”

“Dejah,” Beth said, touching the side of my face. “Come back to us.”

“I am here.”

“So are we. Whatever comes, we’re here with you.”

“You did not murder John Carter’s wife.”

“I would have,” Beth said, “if I’d been there.”

“You didn’t murder her, either,” Lyra said. “You executed her for murder, under a lawful order. She committed mass murder in King’s Landing. She would have done it again at Winterfell.”

“That is true,” I said. “It was in her mind. She demanded that we give her the Starks, and Howland Reed told her they were already dead. She named him a liar. And he was lying, to protect his wife and children, but she never considered that Lyanna Stark might still live.

“In her mind, she intended to turn the dragons on Winterfell regardless of whether we gave her the Starks. She would have received orgasm from the screams of the melting people.”

“Truly?” Tansy asked, stroking my hair. “You knew that and you still think you did wrong to kill her?”

“You saved our lives,” Lyra said. “And no telling how many more.”

“The dragons were already dead,” I countered. “She could not kill anyone without them.”

Jory had sprawled in front of us, her chin resting on Lyra’s extended legs. She looked up at me. “Dejah, any man who could marry that woman isn’t worthy of you.” My sisters nodded.

“What shall I do?” I asked.

“His marrying someone else ended your marriage,” Tansy said. “Stay with your sisters, live as you will. If John Carter returns, deal with him then.”

I snuggled between my sisters and slept uneasily before the fire. I detected Gilly’s presence several times during the night, as she kept the fire stoked with fresh wood.

* * *

In the morning, Gilly had laid the table in our chambers with coffee and some of Hot Pie’s cherry turnovers before we had even awakened. I began to see the value of a lady in waiting. After morning exercises and sword practice, I went to my office in the House Guard barracks to begin planning for the assault on the Freys.

House Frey had violated these lands’ very limited tenets of decency, murdering guests at what became known as the “Red Wedding.” Those slain included Dacey Mormont, Maege’s eldest daughter, and my steward Trisha’s father. Four hundred and two Mormont professional soldiers and over a thousand levies had not returned though it was not clear to me how many of those had been killed at the Twins. I well understood Maege’s rage, as the incident would have been outrageous on Barsoom as well, though not exactly for the same reasons.

But while I felt the pain of Maege and my adoptive sisters, in truth I would have done anything my adoptive mother asked, including overseeing the massacre of hundreds of non-combatants. We intended to kill every Frey old enough to be conscious of their family identity. I did feel uneasy about her demands, but my love for my new family and gratitude toward Maege overrode my hesitation.

I had participated in one castle onslaught already, capturing Harrenhal and helping to slaughter the hapless Holy Hundred. I could easily convince myself that this had been an acceptable, if not righteous, act due to the Hundred’s embrace of child sex. But it had been an exercise in terrorism and murder, in which I had killed an innocent woman and four sick men unable to resist, and attempted to kill a cat.

Every member of the Holy Hundred had participated in their vile rites, but not every member of House Frey had been a party to the Red Wedding. We would attack the Twins with the intent of killing innocents. And true to my promise to Maege, I would prepare this assault to the best of my ability.

As I recalled from my passage north with Tansy and Arya Stark, the double castle occupied both banks of a wide river known as the Green Fork, with one castle on either bank and a bridge between, with a third, much smaller fortification at the bridge’s halfway point.

“You passed through the Twins during the war?” I asked Trisha as she entered my office.

“We did, but I was keeping Jory tight alongside me,” she said. “All I can really say is that it was a broad passage, enough so wagons could go both ways at once.”

She paused.

“Princess. When you attack the Twins . . .”

“My steward will be at my side,” I said. “I would have it no other way.”

In my first draft of an attack plan, I intended that we assault all three simultaneously: we would carry small lightweight boats made of animal skins, commonly used in the waters around Bear Island. Assault teams would cross the river to attack both the right-bank castle and the small one in the middle.

As I drew a map, basing details on my memory and Trisha’s as best we could, Melly the healer entered my office to tell me about our alcohol distilling machine’s production and the steps she had taken to prevent the Keep’s inhabitants from finding and drinking the output. Seeing my map, she looked inquisitively at my creation.

“The Twins,” she said. “From up above, like a bird.” I explained our task, and my lack of information.

“We passed through on the way North,” she said. “Be sure you talk to Gendry, Pia and the others.” She bent over the map, picked up a writing feather and used it to point without marking the map.

“All along here, the roadway through the castle, there’s a wall on either side. A few gates, all shut when we passed through. They don’t want no one looking into their castle who’s coming through.”

“How high is this wall?”

She thought for a moment.

“Tall enough so’s you couldn’t look over it from horseback nor standing in a wagon. Say, 10 feet? Maybe 12? Thick enough so’s guards could walk along it.”

I followed her advice and spoke to the others, but learned little more. Yet Melly had given me a crucial piece of information: assaulting the gates and breaking through them would gain us little. An attacking force would then be trapped in the walled passage and cut down mercilessly with bolts, arrows and even stones.

We would need to conduct three assaults at once, and I could only be present at one. I had hoped to deploy the explosive powder we had used to kill Daenerys’ black dragon to blow down the gates at the castle I did not personally attack, but that would not help. Nor would subterfuge that brought attackers into the castle in loaded wagons bring success – concern over such an attack had no doubt led to construction of the inner walls.

We would have to climb the outer walls and attack from above. I could scale them unseen, using telepathy to time my movements for moments when the guards did not watch the place where I climbed. But that would only work for one castle, and we had two to capture as well as the small one in the middle of the bridge.

Fortunately, The Twins only had a single curtain wall linking an uneven series of fortified watch towers. Most large castles I had observed here – Harrenhal and Winterfell – had a double layer of such protection. At least it should be possible to broach their defenses by stealth.

“I would like to enter the castle,” I told Melly a few days later, “so I could see for myself. But I fear my copper skin is too well-known in Westeros.”

“Wait here. I think I can fix that.”

She returned in a few moments with a small jar and one of the brushes usually used for paint.

“Black walnut extract,” she explained. “Use it for all manner of ills. It’s also the dye that makes your favorite brown dresses brown. Give me your arm.”

She painted a small patch of my skin, turning it dark brown.

“And now you’re a Summer Islander, instead of . . . wherever.”

“Sothoryos.”

“As you say.” She did not believe me. I did not care.

“Will it work on pink skin?”

“You’re the only one,” Melly told me, “who really needs to be hidden.”

“I will be less obvious in a group.”

“This is true. Let’s see.”

Trisha held out her arm, and Melly painted a swath. It turned brown as well, though not so dark as mine.

“That should do,” she said. “Might need a second coat. Just keep in mind, your hair might pass even though it’s not curly like a true Summer Islander, but not that red hair. The same dye should work on hair.”

“Do many Summer Islanders come this far North?” I asked.

“Not that I’ve seen,” Melly said. “Not that I’ve seen much. Black hair and brown skin should be enough. You’ll have to cover your face with a hood.”

“You cannot darken it with the juice?”

“That only happens in the stories,” Melly said, reminding me that John Carter had claimed to redden his skin to pass as one of my people. “There’s no way I could color your skin up under the hairline and around your eyes. You’d look like a raccoon. A reversed raccoon, I guess.”

I would have to reconsider this plan; a visitor deliberately shielding her face would awaken suspicion in the stupidest of guards, perhaps even a Frey.

“You’re known for your skin tone,” Trisha pointed out. “Even if you don’t look a Summer Islander, it might keep people from realizing who you must be.”

She was not wrong, but I did not like this plan. I would concentrate on sneaking over the walls instead of through the front gate.

* * *

Maege and Lyra came to visit a few days afterwards, concerned that I had isolated myself and curious as to my assault plans. I showed them the map, and told them what I had learned from the Brotherhood’s people and our own surviving Guards. They became less worried when they realized that I had been working with Trisha and Melly.

“This inner wall makes the gates a trap,” I explained. “We will have to go over the curtain walls. The problem I have not solved is how to attack all three castles at once.”

My adoptive mother and sister stared at the map, and thought.

“Do we have to take them both?” Lyra asked.

“If we wish to kill all of the Freys,” I said, “I believe that we do.”

“What if,” Maege asked, “we only attack Walder’s castle?”

“Which is it?”

“The eastern castle.”

“You are sure?”

“That’s what the Guards who escaped the Red Wedding said.”

I should have already known that, from the Guards I had interviewed.

“In that case,” I said, “I believe that I would scale the walls in as shadowy a spot as can be found, together with Ryk and Toregg, using my telepathy to assure that we are not spotted. We will drop ropes down for the others to follow, and secure the landing spot for the others.”

“And if the alarm is raised?”

“Even if spotted, we will be difficult to find. It is easy to hide when you can read your pursuer’s thoughts. We will escape, and try again later.”

“I would go with you over the walls,” Lyra said.

“Toregg and Ryk are excellent climbers,” I said. “And very fierce.”

“So am I.”

“I know,” I said. “But you must command the Mormont troops waiting below. Trisha, Beth, Crodell and Jarack will follow immediately behind us.”

“This plan puts you in a great deal of danger,” Maege said. “You trust the wildlings?”

“I do,” I said. “They are sincere in their wish to show themselves part of Northern society. As for the risk, battle always carries risk. But we will have the element of surprise, and I will be able to tell if that element is lost. From what I can gather, the Freys believe their castle impregnable. And they will not expect an attack in Winter.”

“What about Tansy and Jory?” Lyra asked.

“And Gendry,” I added. “I plan to use the explosive powder to help destroy the bridge. They will remain outside the castle, and bring a sledge carrying the explosives into the castle after it is secured.”

“Why must we wreck the bridge?” Lyra continued.

“Maege wishes House Frey destroyed,” I said. “The bridge was the foundation of their wealth and power. Knocking it into the river is a powerful symbol of their house’s fall. I had planned to do so when we burned both castles, but we should be able to destroy the bridge even if we take just one.”

Maege nodded agreement, and made the humming sound that signals thought.

“You’ll attack in a snowstorm?”

“That is my intent. I would like more information: the size of their garrison, the location of its barracks, the location of Walder Frey’s chambers.”

“How long will you occupy the castle?”

“That depends on how long it takes to burn it. The Freys surely have boats and can cross the river from the other castle to reinforce or counter-attack through entrances we may not be able to find.”

“Not if the river’s filled with ice,” Lyra pointed out.

“Will the river freeze here?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” my adoptive sister said. “What we need is a Frey of the Crossing.”

“To put to the question,” I added.

“That’s right.”

“Ser Wylis,” I said out loud.

“Manderly?” Lyra asked. “I don’t know that he’s visited the Twins.”

“I believe the Manderlys have Frey prisoners,” I said. “And Ser Wylis promised that he would help us.”

“Send a raven,” Maege said, looking from me to Trisha. “You two will need to go to White Harbor yourselves.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lyra said.

“I would like that.”

* * *

While we waited for a response from House Manderly, I settled into Mormont Keep’s winter routine. Storms now struck the island often, and I wondered how we would make the sea voyage to Deepwood Port.

“Oh, it’s rough,” Ran Loodey explained, “I can’t deny. And there’s a great deal of danger. But much of that comes from the cargo – either it shifts, and presses the ship under, or she rides too low with too little freeboard. We’ll be in ballast, meaning just enough weight to trim the ship properly.”

“What of storms?”

“Aye, there’s great danger there. There’s storm spotters on the mountain, who’ll send word down by raven if they see rough weather coming over the Bay of Ice. That will help some. But it’s a roll of the dice all the same.”

“Let me pilot your ship.” Asha Greyjoy had overheard, and took an uninvited seat at our table in the Keep’s Great Hall.

“You’re the Iron Born captain,” Loodey said.

“Aye,” Asha replied. “I was, anyway. We’ve methods that you do not. I can get your ship safely to Deepwood Port. ‘tis only two or three days, is it not?”

“You’re a pilot?” Loodey asked.

“The Princess here cut my ship’s pilot into two pieces,” Asha said. “Pretty Trisha gutted our other one. But I’ve served as one in the past.”

“They’re good sailors,” Captain Loodey turned to me. “I can’t deny that. It’s up to you whether you think you can trust her.”

“Why would you assist me?” I asked Asha. “I killed your brother and many of your crew, and I cut your pilot in half.”

“All in war,” she answered. “I gambled, I lost. You let me keep my life. Now I have to make my way here.”

She appeared to speak the truth.

“What do you hope to gain?”

“Your trust. The people here see that you trust me, then life might become somewhat less harsh for me.”

“They have beaten you in the barracks.”

“Of course they have. You knew that would happen. I never leave my food unattended. And no one’s tried to rape me if that’s what you’re asking.”

I found no deception. I made my decision.

“You will pilot the ship, under our captain’s direction. You will ride with me to White Harbor and back.”

“Who else rides?”

“My sister Lyra, and my steward Trisha.”

“Three of you, two prisoners. What if I decide to escape?”

“Then I will kill you without remorse.”

* * *

Only a few snows had fallen when Jory sought me out as I brushed my mare. I worried about my horses, penned up for years. I did not see how they could survive without exercise.

“We won’t get many more chances,” she said, “to ride up the mountain.”

“Then we must go.”

Jory made sure that our saddlebags had emergency supplies, for winter storms could strike Bear Island with little warning even though winter had not fully arrived. Along with her dog Ralf we set out before the morning had become very old, riding through the forest to our favorite lakeside meadow.

The trees had lost their leaves, and the forest now seemed dreary and slightly foreboding. I could still detect the thoughts of animals, though I saw none, and Ralf patrolled for their scents. Neither of us found any signs of bears.

Our meadow looked very different than I recalled: much of the grass had turned yellow or brown, and many of the trees had lost their leaves. The small lake’s waters reflected the skies above and appeared slate-gray rather than blue; I did not mind this change so much as the color, considered beautiful by many people of this planet, instead reminded me of blood and gore.

“Winter is coming,” I said when we had dismounted. I stuck the bear-spear I had brought along into the ground in case another of the beasts wished to attack us.

“That’s what the Starks used to say,” Jory said. “It always sounded ominous, but it’s not like it took any great knowledge of the future. Eventually they had to be right.”

“You have experienced Winter?”

“I probably had six years when it ended,” Jory said, throwing back her arms and looking up at the sky. “All I really remember is that we never could go outside. And when we did, there was snow.”

We walked along the edge of the lake, holding hands. Ralf trotted alongside us, while the horses cropped what little green grass they could find.

“You did not see snow for ten years?”

“We have cold spells with what we call summer snows. Those can last for months.”

“Do you remember a time before winter?”

“A little. I know that I knew about green trees and a world without ice and snow covering everything.”

“What did you do during winter?”

“About the same things you’d do on a stormy day during summer. Play inside with toys, lessons, that sort of thing.”

“Lyanna was born during winter?”

“Yes. Not a coincidence that there are so many children her age, is it?”

I wondered who had fathered the child, given the Mormont family prohibition on sex partners from the island.

“People have sex more often during winter,” I mused aloud. “Does that not lead to damaged children, if they cannot have sunlight and exercise?”

“Winter’s children are said to be smaller and weaker, it’s true. And winter babies die far more easily. As for the sex, I couldn’t say.”

“You are frustrated.”

“And you read minds.” Jory smiled, though her thoughts were slightly bitter. “I’m six-and-ten, seven-and-ten very soon, and I’ve yet to, you know.”

“Have a man inside you?”

“Where did you hear that?” she asked, then smiled. “Lyra.”

“Yes, Lyra. She also told me that it is a family rule that you cannot receive orgasm from a man of Bear Island.”

“That’s true,” Jory said. “Hardly seems fair, since women can . . . you know.”

“But women cannot get one another with child.”

“You’ve been with both men and women?” she asked, blushing. I nodded. “What’s it like?”

“I have little direct experience with men like those of your people,” I said. “Only John Carter. His sex organ did not fit inside mine, so we had to exchange pleasure by other methods.”

“You’ve read the minds of people, though, right?”

“When I first arrived, before I realized how personal and private people here considered sex, I did so freely. For some it is very enjoyable, for others, particularly women, it is less so.”

“What makes it good?”

“Tansy would know more than I,” I said. “She has had sex with many people.”

“You shouldn’t say that to anyone else,” Jory said. “And you’re right. But you’re easier to talk to, about things like this. Since you’re reading my thoughts, I can’t very well be embarrassed, since you already know what I don’t say. And that makes it easier to say it out loud.”

“You are my little sister,” I said. “And I love you with my entire being. You can tell me, or ask me, anything.”

“I want to make love to a man,” she said, decisively. “And I’m terrified of it, all at the same time.”

“It is not difficult,” I said. “I can teach you what I know.”

“I’m more worried about the man.”

“So you should be,” I said. “From what I learned while spying on others, few men here can satisfy a woman. Those who can, do so because they put effort into delivering satisfaction as well as receiving it.”

“Love doesn’t matter?”

“I believe it makes one more willing, or eager, to see to your partner’s enjoyment. But it does not prevent a clumsy lover’s clumsiness.”

“When Winter is over,” she said. “I will sail to the mainland and find a lover. It’s the Mormont way. I’d like it if you would help me choose, to avoid someone who might hurt me.”

“I am glad to help you,” I said. “I cannot guarantee that reading thoughts will deliver the best choice, but it will eliminate the clearly dangerous. And I will kill anyone who harms you.”

“I know that. You’re my big sister and you love me.”

“And that,” I said, borrowing Gilly’s phrasing, “is how it is.”

* * *

While Gilly worked in the kitchens - she did not like Pia, and avoided laundry duty - Beth and I took Little Sam and our nephew Jeor to the beach to look for sea creatures and other items washed ashore.

“Bird!” Jeor informed me. “Bird!” Little Sam confirmed. Many birds congregated, eager to share our food.

“They’re seagulls,” Beth said. “Sort of the rats of the air, they congregate around fishing boats.”

The two small boys pursued the seagulls, their fat little legs pumping furiously, while Beth and I sat on the sand and watched them. I wore one of my sleeveless brown dresses, but it had become cold enough for Beth to don leggings, a sleeved tunic, a second woolen tunic known as a “sweater,” and a thick fur cloak.

“Do you ever think about it?” she asked.

“Think about what?” I had kept my promise, and was not tracking her thoughts.

“Children.”

“It is very different for us,” I said. “We do not carry them, but instead lay eggs that are hatched in a special building made for that purpose.”

“So, no?”

“Only rarely,” I said, which was true. I did not reveal that I had already hatched many children. “What about you?”

“Only rarely,” she repeated my words. “I was wondering if that made me strange. I like having these two boys as my nephews. And I know how badly Tansy wants one of her own, and Lyra. But for me . . . I feel nothing. I don’t hate them. I just don’t want them.”

“This is because you would need to have sex with a man to have a child?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe part of it. I’m a woman. I’m supposed to want to lay with men, and bear their children. I don’t want either. I feel so odd. Like I don’t belong.”

“That is not so,” I said. “I meant every word that I said in Winterfell.”

She turned to look directly into my eyes.

“Don’t ever leave me.”

“I will never leave you.”

I leaned over to kiss her; she tilted her head slightly as she returned it, using her tongue.

“I love you,” we each whispered at the same time.

We chased the boys for a time, and built a castle out of sand, which the boys then kicked into ruin. When they grew tired, we carried them back to the Keep.

It had been a good day.

* * *

Other than my dread of sailing through it, I found that I rather enjoyed stormy weather. Beth and I often nestled before the fire in our chambers while Tansy read to us about the history or environment of Westeros. Gilly would join us if Little Sam slept, and sometimes Lyra or Jory as well. Alysane and Maege also appeared on occasion. The sound of rain sheeting against the roof and the walls, and the howling of the wind, made our spot seem very safe and comfortable. I would not have minded staying there for months of Winter. After years of Winter, I would probably have enjoyed myself far less.

After reading of a fight between dragons to just Beth and I, Tansy slid off the seat behind us and settled against my left side, with Beth on my right. Beth looked across at her, then reached across and tentatively touched her arm.

“Tansy,” she said. “Thank you for letting me join you here.”

“You’re our sister. Why wouldn’t I want you with us?”

“Because I kissed Dejah. Twice. Three times, now.”

“I enjoyed kissing both of you,” I said. “I enjoyed it very much.” Tansy shook her head.

“It’s obviously no problem for Dejah,” she said. “Do you want more than kissing?”

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Beth said. “I guess you know that. I’ve never actually kissed a woman, for real, besides Dejah. Much less anything more. I want to, but I don’t know that I’m ready for that yet.

“I thought she was going to die. I didn’t really think about anything else. And then I was so happy that she didn’t die.”

“I did the same thing,” Tansy said. “Same reasons. Right in front of the Lords of the North and the soldiers and the dragons.”

“Even Lyra kissed me,” I added. “After I killed the dragons. And she does not wish sex with me.”

“You asked her?” Beth asked, smiling.

“She offered,” I said, “but did not truly wish to. She feared that my receiving orgasm through Tansy would become a barrier between us.”

“That’s probably something you were meant to keep to yourself,” Beth said. “But I suppose I have some of that fear as well.”

“Beth,” Tansy said, reaching over me to take her hand. “Nothing will come between us. If you and Dejah want to lay together someday, I won’t be upset. Perhaps a little jealous. I might ask to join, but I won’t be angry.”

“I will leave you both soon,” I said. “I ride for White Harbor with Lyra, Trisha and Asha.”

“Are you sure about the Iron Bitch?” Beth asked. “I still think we should have killed her.”

“Her thoughts did not show deception. And she believes she has the skills to bring us safely to Deepwood Port. Captain Loodey dislikes her, but agrees that she has knowledge that he and his crew do not.”

“Take me with you,” Beth said.

“It is only a brief journey,” I said.

“What do you think?” she asked Tansy.

“I don’t like being separated from my sisters,” Tansy said. “But you’re both very capable of taking care of yourselves.”

I made a decision.

“Come with us,” I said. “It will be cold, with snow and wind.”

“You’ll keep us warm,” Beth said, not knowing the foresight in her words.

“You must promise that you will not kill Asha Greyjoy unless she betrays us.”

“I promise.”

“You will be all right without us?” I asked Tansy.

“We don’t even know yet if the Manderlys still hold Frey prisoners,” she said. “But like you said, it’s not a lengthy journey. Jory and Aly will still be here.”

I slept much more easily that night, once again lying before the fire wrapped in furs. Gilly built up the fire during the night, and laid out coffee in the morning. How had I lived for 800 of this planet’s years without her?

In the morning, Jeyne Poole had a new assignment for me: I helped my baker friend Hot Pie move the heavy iron ovens we had looted from Castle Black into position to give Mormont Keep its own bakery. He had already marked their places on the floor using the soft white rock known as chalk, and other work crews had installed ducts leading to vents to take away the dangerous fumes. I could not be certain, but he appeared fatter than he had when I found him in Winterfell.

“You are glad you came to Bear Island?” I asked him as I slid the first oven into place.

“Oh, princess,” he said. “It’s . . . I bake all day. No one hits me. No one even yells at me. I tell the head cook what I want to put on the next day’s menu and she just asks if I have all the ingredients.”

“The work is not hard?”

“’Course it is, but when it’s work you like, seems like it’s not work at all.”

“You are happy here?”

“Happy?” he wanted to cry, but restrained himself. “No one’s never asked me that. Yes, I’m happy here. It’s all I ever wanted.”

“You bake all day?”

“I do. You excused me from training with swords, I thought ’cause you wanted me in here instead.”

“You are under my protection,” I said. “I do not want you involved in fighting.”

“Cook said everyone’s ‘sposed to train.”

“There are exceptions,” I said. “Many who came late to Bear Island are excused: Lady Tansy, Lady Jeyne, Lord Tycho, Pia and Gilly.”

“They’s mostly women.”

“Not all,” I said. “And they are all people I would not see harmed. That includes you.”

I paused.

“If you wish to learn to fight, I will teach you. If you do not wish it, I will see that you are not forced.”

“Why do you look after me?”

I had the stove placed exactly on the marks, and hopped atop it for a moment before I leaned back to fit its exhaust pipe into the waiting ventilation shaft.

“Hot Pie,” I said, momentarily wondering what his real name might be, for surely his mother had not named him for a pastry, “I have met very few good people in these lands. Most of them have died, some at my hand, some because I could not save them. I would not have you become one of them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You made cherry pie for me. I failed to save your friend. I owe you a debt.”

“You doesn’t owe me nothing. And I’m glad to bake pies for a real princess.”

For the rest of the day, I shifted ovens and connected them to the shafts. It was what the Bear Islanders called “honest work,” and it kept me from thinking about my husband’s desire to kill me or the threat he posed to my now-extended family. At the day’s end I could be satisfied with my contribution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris sails for Winterfell.


	89. Chapter Twenty-Four (John Carter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Carter receives terrible news.

Chapter Twenty-Four (John Carter)

After a brief moment of indecision, I mounted Rhaegal and flew to the south-west. I knew that Drogon and Viserion could fly at greater speeds than their smaller brother, but I also knew it was possible that they were not using their full capability. I didn’t have to actually overtake them as long as Rhaegal could bring me within telepathic range of the other dragons; I remained confident that they would obey my commands delivered directly into their minds over those of Daenerys given by word and gesture.

I pushed Rhaegal to his limits, but I knew the chances of success to be slim. I had no idea of their course or speed, and no idea how long they had been aloft; I had not waited to question the dragon handlers before taking off in pursuit. It truly did not matter; had I known that they had a head start of at least three hours, I would have gone after them anyway.

When Rhaegal tired, I finally turned back, frustrated at our failure. I remained in Selhorys with Rastifa for the following week, hoping that my princess would come to her senses and return to me. I flew Rhaegal on a several broad sweeps to the south-west of the city, the direction she was mostly likely to have taken, but found no sign of either dragon.

Meanwhile, the campaign went on. Selmy led First Army toward Galati without opposition. I still had one dragon, and could visit the headquarters of either of my armies, or of our main depot at Meereen, but the visual telegraph gave up-to-date reports from all three locations. Kainaz sent a deferential report recommending that she send a Third Army westward when it was ready in a few months, to be in place for transport to Westeros. I approved her suggestion; that would allow us to move the defeated Volantene militiamen to a different continent. I suspected that step wouldn’t truly be necessary, as the men of other conquered lands - Qarth, Meereen, Astapor, Lhazar and New Ghis - had fought well in the battle before Selhorys. But we would need garrisons for the cities we planned to conquer on this side of the ocean, and I did not trust local recruits to police their countrymen.

At the moment few decisions required my intervention: the civil governors I had installed in the conquered cities enacted my programs, while my generals moved my armies and trained my new troops. And so I spent most of my days worrying over the fate of my princess, cursing myself for allowing Tyrion Lannister to live and for assigning him to tutor my princess, and trying to think of any means by which I might retrieve her.

Rhaegal was unhappy without Daenerys or his brothers, and often called for them, a sound much like a very large bird. I felt much the same, frustrated by my helplessness. I visited both Selmy and Meris to check on their progress, but they had little to report that they had not already sent by way of the visual telegraph. They understood that I sought any sort of diversion from my worry over my princess.

When I flew from First Army’s headquarters back to Selhorys, Varys awaited me with news. As the Dothraki handlers swarmed over Rhaegal, I followed the eunuch into a small guard post at one of the city gates.

“My Emperor,” he said. “News of the First Empress.”

“Don’t add any drama. What do you know?”

“She arrived at King’s Landing, and sent word demanding the surrender of Jaime Lannister. He agreed to meet her and she flew to the Red Keep.”

“Skip that,” I snapped. “Is she safe?”

“As far as we know,” Varys said. “But we have little word of what happened once she left the capital.”

“What happened at the Red Keep?”

“It appears that an attempt to murder her with a crossbow, under the guise of negotiations, failed. She ordered her black dragon to burn Jaime Lannister. He may have escaped, for she then burned much of the Red Keep and pursued someone into the city. Whoever this was, she attempted to burn with dragonfire. Quite a few caches of wildfire ignited from the dragon’s flame. The number of casualties is appalling.”

“Was she injured in the attempt on her life?”

Part of my mind screamed in horror that my princess had committed mass murder and I had enabled her to do so, but in that moment, I cared only for her safety.

“That’s unclear,” Varys said. “Our informants were at a distance; those who might have reported in more detail did not survive. She was clearly still alive when she departed the city.”

“Where was Lannister?”

“Only one dragon, ridden by the Empress, was sighted over King’s Landing. I’ve no information on the second dragon, Tyrion or Missandei.”

Taking the eunuch and Lynesse aboard Rhaegal, I flew Varys to Pentos. There he collected new information from his agents, sent by fast ship from Westeros, while I saw to my mansion and questioned the new steward Illyrio had appointed. This time he had selected a professional of no relation, a Pentosi named Tregan Sanel, and I found him satisfactory. He was well aware of his predecessor’s fate; Vorsakko had left the impaled remains of Vyros by the front gate. I had the Dothraki take down the pole and toss the bones and strips of flesh into the manse’s rubbish heap.

Sanel provided a fine dinner for several of the remaining magisters of Pentos, hosted by myself and my concubine. Lynesse proved completely charming, putting the men at ease - they rightly feared immolation - and making herself the lady of the manse and, by extension, my lady. She hoped that a good performance in this role might help open a path to marriage and a golden crown in place of her golden collar.

After we had seen off our guests, she reveled in the rich furnishings with which Drogo had filled his palace; those that Vyros had not stolen or sold off, at least.

“We could just stay here,” she said, trailing her fingers over the fine marble columns of the entry hall. “Forget Westeros. You and I, right here, just living.”

She stepped over to where I stood and molded her body against me.

“You and me, we could have fun.”

I did not doubt that this was true, but I couldn’t see myself slipping into a life purely devoted to sybaritic pleasure. Or perhaps I could. Avoiding the garden where I had first made love to Daenerys, I led Lynesse to one of the many bedchambers.

“Now this,” she said, admiring the tapestries and the canopy over the bed, “this is what I’ve told you I want. You already have it. Let me show you why it’s all you need. Why I’m all that you need.”

She had somehow, in the brief hours we had spent in Pentos, acquired the euphoric drugs she had described to me during our brief visit to Astapor. She now pulled down the shoulder of her Qartheen-style gown and dabbed the clear liquid on her nipples.

I pulled off my tunic while she pulled down my loose trousers. I had become hard and erect, and she coated my manhood with more of the drug.

“This will keep you hard,” she said in her soft, seductive voice, “all night long.”

“I’ve never had that problem with you.”

“True. Harder, then.”

She put her hand on my chest and guided me to sit on the edge of the bed, where she straddled me. I made to enter her, but she whispered, “Not yet,” and pressed her bosom to my face. I licked and sucked each of her nipples, and as she had promised, almost instantly felt a sense of power and of well-being.

Lynesse slid to the floor, to ply her tongue along my manhood to both give me pleasure and give herself a dose of her drug. As my seed began to spurt, she took firm hold of my manhood, her thumb under the tip, and stopped its flow. I could feel my eyes bulge; it was an odd sensation, neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

“Do you feel it?” she asked in her sultry voice, climbing back into my lap and pressing me back onto the cushions.

“Yes,” I answered in a ragged whisper, unsure I could say more. “I feel it.”

As she had promised, my manhood retained its energy for hours, though the rest of me became exhausted well before dawn and I fell into a deep sleep with Lynesse curled against me. For a few hours, I had completely forgotten my worries over Daenerys. With the sun, Varys returned and with him my endless anxiety.

* * *

“I have reports from Storm’s End and Riverrun,” Varys began, as we sat over the breakfast table. Pleased with her performance the night before, I allowed Lynesse to sit beside me. “The Empress waited some days, apparently to allow ravens sent by Tyrion to reach the various great houses of Westeros.”

The nobles of Westeros used an odd system of mail-carrying birds for communication; I wondered how the birds could possibly be trained for this.

“What messages,” I asked, “were sent?”

“My little birds have not managed to lay hands on an actual message, but it appears they were addressed to the houses that stood against House Targaryen during the rebellion, demanding that they submit their members for punishment.”

“Did they comply?”

“Of course not,” Varys said. “Storm’s End is held by a Lannister castellan, who appears to have exited the castle to speak with the Empress and been burned for his troubles. Whatever he said before his immolation must have been enough to convince her that no Baratheons were resident there.”

“And at Riverrun?”

“Riverrun is no longer held by House Tully, but is the property of House Frey through a new cadet branch. The lord, Emmon Frey, apparently fled upon receiving the message and Empress Daenerys found the castle housing only vagrants and squatters.”

“And do you have any indication as to where she flew next?”

“Winterfell.”

* * *

I flew Rhaegal back to Selhorys later that day, taking Varys but leaving Lynesse to luxuriate in my mansion. I told Sanel to tend to her whims, but she was not to leave the grounds.

At Selhorys I planned to await the arrival of Second Army and then return to Galati to coordinate our next moves, but moments after we landed Rhaegal turned his nose directly skyward and unleashed what I can only describe as a scream. Shaking off the Dothraki handlers who had just begun to remove his saddle, he took flight without my command and flew off to the north-west, ignoring my repeated telepathic orders to return.

He had seemed to suddenly experience deep distress, as though a great tragedy had occurred. Yet nothing had harmed him in any way; he had suffered no injury nor had anything untoward happened on our flight. Rhaegal had much greater telepathic sensitivity than his clutch-mates, and it seemed that he had detected some sort of impulse that I had not.

I had kept my chambers in the requisitioned mansion, and found Kinvara awaiting me there. Her demeanor appeared serious, and her thoughts troubled.

“Do you wish to know,” she asked. “What I’ve seen the flames, John Carter?”

“Of course,” I said; she had shown some surprising accuracy in the past.

“One wife has slain another. Daenerys has fallen beneath the sword of Dejah Thoris.”

I turned my back to pour myself wine; I rarely drank alone but wished a moment to compose myself. I poured a second goblet and held it out when I turned back to Kinvara.

“You’ve said before, that the flames show you possibilities, not necessarily fact.”

“You misremember,” she said, accepting the wine. “I did not tell you this, but you are not wrong.”

“And the flames tell you that this Dejah Thoris, who you claim was once my wife, has murdered my actual wife,” I said, in what I believed to be a calm voice. “And that Rhaegal is somehow aware of this.”

“Yes and no,” Kinvara said. “I have seen her die by the hand of Dejah Thoris, along with her companions and her dragons. It is the deaths of his brothers that your dragon has felt.”

I did not wish to believe her, but deep within my body, I knew this to somehow be true. Had known that she flew to her death from the moment Doreah awakened me.

“How do you know that this she-demon is named Dejah Thoris?”

“The Lord of Light speaks to me, in a way. There is no sound I just . . . know what he wishes me to know. It is a feeling that something powerful, something very different, has entered my thoughts.”

I was avoiding the topic of our conversation.

“And she has killed my wife.”

“Yes.”

“How did it happen?”

“The flames do not show detail,” she said. “I saw Daenerys on her knees before Dejah Thoris, who plunged her flaming sword through your princess’s heart as Daenerys screamed. That does not mean that she stabbed Daenerys in the chest, instead it is symbolic of Dejah Thoris having killed her.”

Kinvara’s thoughts revealed that the manner shown, Daenerys on her knees willingly allowing Dejah Thoris to kill her with a flaming sword, showed Dejah Thoris to be favored by her fire-god. She did not speak this aloud, fearing my wrath.

“I understand,” I said. “But the concept, that Daenerys has been murdered, is accurate.”

“Yes.”

I flexed my open hand, and considered smashing something, and almost threw my wine goblet against the wall, but regained control of my emotions.

“Do you need me?” Kinvara asked. “It would be understandable.”

And may the God I no longer acknowledge forgive me, I did. For a brief moment I forgot my sense of dread and loss in Kinvara’s fiery embrace. Her lips, her womanhood were like flames, and I threw myself into them, eager to burn.

* * *

Without the ability to fly between my scattered forces, I decided to wait at Selhorys for Meris and Second Army to arrive. Her vanguard showed up perhaps three weeks after Kinvara’s vision and Rhaegal’s frenzied departure, with Meris and Istarion riding in the next day along with Jorah Mormont.

I reviewed the troops, and found them properly armed and in good order. Losses on the march had been minimal, as Meris had enforced my regulations on sanitation, medical care and distribution of food and water. One of the feudal armed mobs called armies in these lands would have left half its strength lying dead along its route. Meris had little imagination, and I would hesitate to allow her to command an army in battle, but she excelled at carrying out orders.

Meris moved the army across the bridge to camp for four rest days before setting out for Myr. I decided to send her ahead and catch up with the troops before they reached the city, to oversee its surrender myself. So far she had been able to make use of the visual telegraph stations built by First Army during its march; she would now have to build new ones in her army’s wake. Skahaz had provided additional teams of signalers and scribes to man the new stations, and had sent word that already workers had begun replacing the wooden towers of the line between Meereen and Selhorys with sturdy stone. The string of tiny fortresses would also become centers of my authority.

* * *

Varys arrived from the west a day after Meris marched in from the east. The eunuch dressed as a Dothraki dispatch rider and even looked the part. I could not read Varys’ thoughts as he entered the library I’d taken as my personal office space, but I could tell that he had information he did not wish to share.

“Sit,” I said, indicating the chair across from my desk. “What is it?”

“News,” he said. “From Westeros.”

He pulled a rolled scrap of parchment from his sleeve and fidgeted with it.

“She’s dead,” I said, giving voice to my worst fear. Despite my efforts to ignore Kinvara’s visions, in my heart I had known her to speak the truth as soon as she said she had seen Daenerys die.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure? Who is the informant?”

“The informant’s reliable,” Varys said. “Barbrey Dustin, one of the Northern lords. She witnessed it. And I have confirmation, though less reliable.”

“Tell me how.”

“After failing to find any Baratheons at Storm’s End or Tullys at Riverrun,” he said, “the empress flew to the North, to Winterfell, with the dragons. Tyrion had sent demands that the Stark family be turned over for judgement. The Northerners refused, though I have doubts that there are any Starks left alive to be turned over.

“The defense of Winterfell was led by the woman named Dejah Thoris. She had a trap prepared and somehow killed both dragons; the details are sketchy. She captured Daenerys, Missandei and Tyrion, and put them to death by her own hand.”

“Tell me how,” I said again, willing all emotion out of my voice, but wishing to feel the full force of pain. “Tell me how she died.”

“The woman killed Tyrion by smashing his head as he lay injured, and then crushed Missandei’s throat. She is said to be abnormally strong, much like you, my lord. Dejah Thoris then forced Empress Daenerys to her knees, taunted her and decapitated her with a sword.”

“Leave me.”

My wife was dead. I had failed to protect her, to fulfill a gentleman’s primary purpose.

I leaned back and stared at the ornate ceiling. I should have killed Tyrion Lannister when the aged, self-satisfied whore Lissana brought me her tale. He had only filled my princess’ head with idiocies.

But Tyrion had only led my princess to her death; he had not swung the sword. Who was this woman, with the name so strange and yet familiar? She had murdered my wife and her friends. Whoever she was, I swore to myself, she would die at the end of my sword. I had never, to my knowledge, intentionally killed a woman. I would make an exception for this Dejah Thoris.

* * *

I must have sat alone, staring at the walls of the merchant’s private library for some hours before I realized that Rastifa the Beautiful knelt alongside my leather chair.

“My husband,” she said softly, lifting my hand and kissing its palm. “We have suffered a great loss. Please come back to me.”

“I’m here,” I said. “We will have vengeance, you and I.”

“She was my sister-wife,” Rastifa said. “I would go with you to Westeros, to slay this Dejah Thoris.”

“So you shall,” I said. “Though I will kill her myself.”

“You have said many times that your code of honor forbids fighting a woman,” she said. “She is dangerous. I would not see you hesitate and be slain. Allow me to meet her in single combat, and put my sword through her foul heart.”

Somehow, the thought of Rastifa the Beautiful fighting and killing another woman in my name aroused me. That was an unseemly thought, not worthy of a gentleman.

“You’re right,” I said. “In other circumstances, I wouldn’t fight a woman. She murdered my wife, your sister-wife, and that removes any protections chivalry gave her. I’ll kill her, and I promise you, I won’t hesitate. I need to be the one who avenges Daenerys.”

“As it should be,” she said. “You loved her before you loved me.”

Did I love Rastifa? I turned to look into her dark eyes, then leaned forward and kissed her lips.

“I still have you,” I said. “And I love you.”

“As I love you,” she said. “We will endure this together.”

* * *

Unable to fully control my emotions, I asked Rastifa to sleep alone and summoned Calye to my rooms, to the bed where I had made love to Daenerys for the very last time. I stared at the soft cushions, and then wept like a woman, sobs I could not stop wracking my body. Mortified, I tried to bring them under control but my flesh would not obey. Stunned, I sat on the edge of the bed, my face in my hands.

At some point Calye had quietly entered the room and disrobed. She now stood close beside me, her misshapen bosom pressed against the side of my face.

“Close your, your eyes,” Calye whispered. “You can . . . you can pretend I’m her, if you, you want to.”

“No,” I said, pulling her onto the bed, tearing off my Dothraki-style loose trousers and thrusting hard and angrily into her. She whimpered, but not from pleasure. I blinked away the tears and stared into her eyes. “I want to know it’s you. That I’ve lost her and you’re all I’ve left. How far I’ve fallen.”

I wept again as I approached release.

“Say it,” I whispered, more harshly than I intended. “Say it and don’t stutter.”

“My chieftain,” Calye murmured into my ear in a throaty, high-pitched voice much like that of Daenerys. My seed exploded with a force I had rarely known and I shouted involuntarily. Calye wept. I did not, but I sank into a morose state, knowing that I had become as pathetic as Jorah Mormont.

* * *

Somehow, Rastifa’s intervention awakened my dormant energy. If anything, our campaign in the west of Essos and the following invasion of Westeros became even more urgent.

“How can you fiddle with biscuits and bolts?” Jorah Mormont raged, having found me among Second Army’s wagon train discussing transport arrangements with some of the quartermasters serving Istarion. “You let her fly away on her damned dragon, and now she’s dead.”

“You’ll do well to watch your tongue, Ser Jorah,” I reminded him, though he said nothing I had not said to myself. “I allowed you to fantasize about Daenerys, but she was my wife, not yours.”

“You took my wife, too.”

“So I did. Would you like her back?”

“No,” he shook his head as he began to weep. “You can’t give me anything to heal this pain.”

“Control yourself, man.”

“You can give me one thing. Vengeance. I want to kill the woman who killed the khaleesi.”

“That’s reserved for me,” I said. “You may accompany me, and kill one or more of her henchwomen if circumstances permit. Some of them, most of them, I understand to be members of your family.”

“They may have been my family, but they cast me out long ago. If Maege or her daughters had anything to do with this, I’ll gladly put them to the sword.”

“Very well,” I said. “Show me that you can control your emotions, that you can be useful to me, and you can fight by my side against Dejah Thoris.”

* * *

Reports from Galati, received via the now-indispensable visual telegraph, said that Melennis and the fleet had arrived and begun their overhaul work. I responded with instructions to continue the work but remain in the anchorage until I had arrived to confer with the admirals.

If at all possible, I hoped to move up the timing of our invasion of Westeros. We would bypass both Lys and Tyrosh, and bring our fleet to Myr to pick up First Army, while Second Army marched to Pentos and would take ship there as soon as we had transport available.

I did not fool myself; this plan was less sound than the deliberate advance I had laid out some weeks earlier. Every reason I had stated then to secure Lys and Tyrosh first remained valid. I knew what I was doing: I burned to avenge the murder of my princess, by killing Dejah Thoris and all those who gave her shelter. And to do so, I would cut corners in the coming campaign, thereby doing exactly what I had told my princess that I would not do.

When not rigorously planning the invasion, I diverted myself by forming a military band of fifes and drums and teaching them proper marching tunes: Dixie, Garryowen and Grenadiers. I found former slaves in Selhorys who had been trained as musicians, and had Plumm and Skahaz dispatch others from Dragons’ Bay. Every regiment would have its own band to march behind. Though I have little musical ability, I was able to whistle the melodies and pound out the rhythms well enough for the conductors to re-create the music I desired.

Rastifa assured me that the musicians would create marches that I would like just as much, but it frustrated me that I lacked the talent to pass along others that I recalled, brand-new and more complex tunes with names like Prussia’s Glory and Radetzky. At some level I knew that I sought trivial troubles to mask the depths of my grief.

With my purpose renewed and energy restored, I found my manly needs also re-awakened. With Lynesse in Pentos, likely bathing in milk or enjoying sme other silly and wasteful luxury, I called Doreah to my bed. I knew that Doreah hated me, and unlike Lynesse she harbored no illusions of replacing my princess and being crowned as my new empress. But she was a thorough professional, and displayed all of her wiles to amuse me.

Afterwards, she lay with her bosom on my chest, knowing how I enjoyed feeling its heft, as I twirled a lock of golden hair around my finger. I found myself imaging that the hair was dark brown, and the eyes looking into mine purple rather than blue. I didn’t know how to describe what Lady Ashara had done to my manhood with her own woman’s parts, but I knew that I wanted to experience it again.

In another man it might have been an expression of vanity, but I knew - for I had caught it in her thoughts - that Lady Ashara Selmy at times had similar daydreams, involving me. She loved Ser Barristan, but he could not satisfy her needs.

I took Doreah’s perfect left breast in my hand and slowly circled the nipple with my tongue. Before coming to this world, I would never have done such a thing, would have considered it perverted. I would never have acknowledged that a woman might have needs of her own, let alone sympathized with Lady Ashara’s unfulfilled desires. Such a woman deserved to be loved and adored, as she now enjoyed both. But she also deserved physical love, as she imagined receiving from me.

I had changed, and not merely due to what Doreah had taught me about a woman’s physical pleasure. I now freed slaves, where once I had considered the institution to be divinely ordained. I counted a black man, Orange Cat, as a personal friend. Women served me as generals, as soldiers, and I valued their honor and courage. During my life in Virginia, I would no more have thought to find such virtues in a woman than to speak with a talking dog. Women had virtues, it cannot be argued, but I believed them to center on the home, the family, on chastity. Yet I loved Rastifa, I respected her, and she had given herself to me without the benefit of marriage. While it’s true that I correctly saw Lynesse and Doreah as debased whores, I respected Ashara Selmy yet she had yielded to me as well.

This was not the world I had known. Nor was I the man I had known.

* * *

“John,” Calye asked one afternoon as I roused from a post-coital nap. “Who . . . who is the red princess?”

“Red princess?” I asked, still somewhat groggy.

“In your . . . in your sleep. You’ve done it before. The red princess, who you can’t fuck. She . . . she makes fun of you, calls you . . . calls you ignorant.”

“What do you mean, I can’t fuck her?”

“You seem . . . seem frustrated. You get hard, I feel it, feel it press on me and, and, and you say you can’t, can’t put it in her. That she, she laughs at you for it.”

Somehow, this seemed vaguely familiar, though I could not say why.

“Even the most powerful of men,” I said instead, “fear themselves to secretly be weak. They have bad dreams in which even a woman holds power over them. I have strong reason to have had bad dreams of late.”

Calye nodded, unconvinced. And before I brushed the thought away, I also had doubts of my own words. I knew what I had said to be true, at least for other men. But the image of a red princess, as beautiful as she was arrogant . . . I knew this to have something to do with the years missing from my memory. That it would also turn out to be directly connected to Dejah Thoris and the murder of my wife, I had not the slightest suspicion until the following morning.

I breakfasted with Varys, as I now felt ready to learn more about my wife’s murder. He clearly reveled in delivering bad news, even to one with the power to put him to death, but I had questions that demanded answers, and so I demanded them as well.

“Tell me,” I began, “about this Dejah Thoris. That’s not a Westerosi name, is it?”

“No,” the eunuch said, clearly unhappy that he could not supply her origin. “She claims to be a princess from Sothoryos, but that is an obvious lie. She seems to have appeared from nowhere, at first accompanying an outlaw band before striking out on her own.”

“What do you know of her?”

“She is tall for a woman, and said to be exquisitely beautiful. She rides well, is highly skilled with a sword, and defeated two of the kingdoms’ finest swordsmen in trials by combat.”

“Her appearance?”

“Copper skinned, with black hair and dark red eyes. Hers is an intimidating presence, and her stare is said to be particularly unnerving. She speaks in an oddly flat tone, and is said to have few facial expressions.”

A red princess.

“Her purpose?”

“She’s told a number of people that she seeks her husband,” Varys said, then hesitated. “John Carter.”

“She claims to be my wife?”

“Yes,” Varys said. “Though she has taken another lover. Several, it appears.”

“Who is this man?”

“A woman,” Varys corrected. “Tansy Rivers, bastard daughter of Hoster Tully and a prostitute who owned a brothel destroyed during the war. She was herself a whore before joining Dejah Thoris. Dejah Thoris is also said to have taken an escaped Tyroshi bed-slave as her lover, a woman named Beth Cassel, daughter of Winterfell’s master-at-arms. Or perhaps both of them together. The reports are not clear on this.

“It appears that Dejah Thoris and Tansy Rivers were the unnamed whores who murdered Queen Cersei. What motive they might have had is unknown; they had no previous contact with Cersei, they stole nothing of great value and I’ve found no evidence that anyone else paid them to do so. Dejah Thoris also slaughtered a pirate crew that had captured Tansy Rivers, and burned their ship.”

“And where is she now?”

“She’s been adopted by Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island, your Ser Jorah’s aunt, and is said to be fanatically loyal to Lady Maege. She bears the mark of a Shield Maiden of Bear Island, and commands House Mormont’s small guard force.”

“A Shield Maiden?”

“A secret society of the fierce women warriors of Bear Island. Her receiving the brand would indicate that she is fully accepted by the Mormonts, and they by her.”

I had already considered acting against House Mormont to amuse Lynesse. Now that musing became a priority.

“Were the Mormonts involved in the ambush of my wife?”

“At least three of them were present,” Varys said. “The Lady and two daughters. As well as Dejah Thoris’s two lovers, a Shield Maiden who frequently serves as her henchwoman and a young bastard blacksmith she treats as a surrogate son. But the act seems to have been committed by Dejah Thoris alone.”

“She killed two dragons alone?”

“So my little birds tweet,” he said. “As I told you earlier, she’s said to be abnormally strong and fast, and she has a killer’s instinct.”

Much like me. She appeared without a history, much like me. She required multiple lovers, much like me. And she met Calye’s description of my dreams, and Kinvara’s description of her visions.

Had my nightmares taken form?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, John Carter prepares for vengeance.


	90. Chapter Sixty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dejah Thoris wears her purple gown.

Chapter Sixty-Four (Dejah Thoris)

Curious about our island’s winter economy, I visited my sister Tansy while she worked with Jeyne and Tycho. I mostly listened quietly, and when it seemed appropriate, I asked after their investment planning. I was very proud of having brought the Dreadfort’s gold to Bear Island, and hoped it would make my new family and its people prosperous.

“Much depends on the length of Winter,” Tycho said, pulling his strange narrow beard as he often did while calculating. “The maester here believed this Winter would last for many years, and that’s definitely been the pattern throughout recorded history.”

“It is possible,” I said, “that this has changed.”

“I agree with you,” the one-time Braavosi banker said. “Braavos is not as far north as Bear Island, but still lies in the north. Yet winter is never as severe as on this side of the Narrow Sea.”

“You do not believe these winters are natural.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I think they arise from cold generated by the Wall, somehow. Or maybe something north of the Wall. That’s the most likely explanation I’ve heard.”

“What else,” I asked, “have you heard?”

“There are some thinkers in Braavos,” he said, “who believe that a powerful current of warm water makes its way up the Narrow Sea to wash upon the favored shores of our city. Otherwise we would see winters just as bitter as yours. Sailors confirm that the current exists.”

“Then why is that not a sufficient explanation?”

“The Narrow Sea is indeed narrow. One would think that the current would warm this side of the sea, at least somewhat, yet the winters are every bit as savage on the eastern coast of the North of Westeros as on this side.”

“And normal people,” Tansy asked, “study such things in Braavos?”

“There are no maesters in Braavos,” Tycho said. “Anyone can study the natural world, history, literature - though they usually need a patron to do so. Knowledge is spread far outside a narrow group of grey-cowled hermits.”

“You are one of these people?” she asked.

“Oh no,” he laughed gently. “I am what I seem, a banker. But I’ve read of their work, and spoken to them in coffee houses and at evening sessions hosted by my colleagues and others.”

“I would love to attend such sessions,” Tansy said. “Do women do so?”

“Yes, in Braavos.”

“Then we must have such sessions here,” I said. “In our new house of coffee.”

“That will help pass the Winter,” Tycho said. “No matter how long it lasts.”

“How can we invest our gold,” I asked, “with the length of winter uncertain?”

“Not very well,” he admitted. “Lady Tansy and Lady Jeyne have prepared a longer list of investments on the island, all fairly conservative and keeping with Lady Mormont’s directive to leave the culture of Bear Island as unchanged as possible. And I, humbly, have my own list of opportunities to seek along the western shorelines of Westeros.”

“Humbly?”

“A manner of speaking, princess. I am quite proud of them and think they will do well, if we can find the right partners.”

“All of these must wait until Winter’s end?”

“I’m afraid so,” Tansy said. “Including your military projects. Maege approved rebuilding the fortress in the inlet’s mouth, and the increase in the House Guard. But we can’t get the materials and masons until sea travel is safe again. Finding recruits is going to be impossible until they can travel here to sign up.”

I began to understand more of my new home, why it seemed so stunted and stagnant: Winter killed business, and brought not only trade but the exchange of ideas to a halt, at least in the northern lands. So much of their effort during the warm years went to repairing the damage of the frozen years that progress came slowly if at all.

“If we’re right about the short winter,” Tycho added, “we’ll be ready to move quickly to take advantage. Don’t despair yet, Princess. Your gold will work for Bear Island.”

“And what of the house of coffee?” I asked, thinking of Trisha’s sister.

“That proposal already has the Lady’s approval,” Tansy said. “I’ll be sending letters with you to White Haven asking for more coffee beans and white pastry flour. It’s our hope that it can operate through the winter, even a long one, and give the people of the Keep and the town a gathering place.”

* * *

Samwell Tarly had begun to teach Gilly to read the letters of this place, and Tansy now worked to help both our lady-in-waiting and I master the written version of their language. I had a much more difficult time of it than I had anticipated, as I once again received a reminder of how much I depended on telepathy to understand their speech. In truth, I still did not speak their language well, but instead picked concepts out of their thoughts and relied on the same technique to form my own phrases. The written word conveyed no thoughts, only ink.

I had been intellectually lazy, and much like a child of this place, I became determined not to be outdone by Gilly. Their harsh and angular letters lacked the gentle geometry of the writing of Barsoom – all of our peoples share the same written language – and like John Carter’s language they represented verbal sounds rather than concepts. Not only did I have to learn new symbols, but a new way of thinking.

I now understood why so many of these people read aloud, or at least whispered or mouthed the words as they read. I found myself having to do the same. Tansy was very patient with both of us, and I learned to write my name in their letters and to sound out simple children’s stories. I had a great deal of practice ahead of me before I would be ready for more complicated literature.

Tycho took the time to show me their numerical systems, both that used in Westeros and of the eastern continent. I had seen Tansy use both. The Westerosi numbers were extremely primitive, clearly based on renderings of bundles of sticks. They had no concept of zero.

“How can they perform any simple mathematics?” I asked him. “Even multiplication or division?”

“They can’t,” he answered simply. “It means they have no meaningful accounting, either. Lady Tansy is one of the few I’ve encountered who understands the principles.”

And now I understood why Lyra had found it amazing that I could perform simple calculations in my head. Tansy had long ago explained that brothels were one of the few institutions of Westeros to employ credit and other sophisticated practices.

“Do you bankers cheat the Westerosi?”

“The Iron Bank maintains scrupulous accounts, even for barbarians. Others . . . are less scrupulous. The customers may on rare occasion sense that they’ve been defrauded, but they’re unable to determine how it happened.”

“Have we cheated our partners?”

“No,” he said. “We’re trying to forge long-term business relationships. Swindling potential partners for short-term gain is most unwise.”

I pondered this new realization, which should have struck me far earlier. The people of these lands were, for all practical purposes, innumerate. Whatever gifts of technology the star goddess might try to bestow would be rendered useless by their inability to perform simple calculations. Even if I wished to do so, I would not be able to advance their society by disseminating the science of Barsoom.

* * *

The raven from White Harbor confirmed that House Manderly had one surviving Frey prisoner, a knight named Hosteen who had commanded part of the Frey forces in the North. Ser Wylis cautioned that Hosteen was known as “Ser Stupid” for good reason, but had grown up in the Twins and lived there until the outbreak of war. I was welcome to question him in White Harbor or bring him back to Bear Island as I saw fit.

Lyra cautioned me that even with my enhanced strength and stamina, and my innate body heat, the trek across the North during Winter was not something to undertake lightly. Few attempted to travel, and of those who did, many simply disappeared. Soon, even messenger ravens would be grounded by the increasingly foul weather.

Tansy wrote to Ser Davos in Winterfell and to Lord Glover, asking their assistance with lodging and with horses. Both Asha and Captain Loodey were adamant that we could not carry horses on the ship during this voyage. While the roads leading from Deepwood Port to Winterfell and on to White Harbor had inns along them, bad weather could force us to camp by the roadside. Lyra warned that not all innkeepers wished to deal with strangers during Winter – food could easily become priceless in a years-long Winter, and no amount of gold would buy any.

When Loodey and Asha agreed that we had clear weather, or as clear as could be expected, a soldier came to my office with the news. Tansy had come to visit, and we were otherwise alone.

“Thank you,” I said, walking to the door with him. “Please find Trisha, Lady Beth and Lady Lyra, and be sure they are aware.”

As he left, I barred the door behind him.

“Won’t Trisha be coming to collect her things?” Tansy asked.

I had not thought of that. I took Tansy’s hand, drew her to her feet and kissed her,

“Then we must make use of our time,” I said. “I will feel her before she arrives.”

I fumbled with the laces of her dress as I kissed her, hungrily. These people wore far too many layers.

“Leave it,” she whispered. “I’ll never lace them back in time.”

I took her face in her hands and kissed her, looking into her eyes and entering her mind, feeling how she loved me, willing her to feel my love for her. She knew that I loved her, but our thoughts did not connect as had hoped. I played my tongue along hers, as she placed one hand on my hip and the other on my breast. I felt my nipple react to her touch, and felt it through her hand as well.

When I felt Trisha enter the barracks and start up the stairs, I released Tansy and walked unsteadily to the door. I unbarred it just as she pushed it open.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“I,” I hesitated, at a momentary loss for words. “I am not. I must go to our chambers. For my things. For something.”

“I see,” Trisha smiled. “I’m sure Captain Loodey won’t leave without you.”

She greeted Tansy, snatched her small bundle from where she had placed it on her bed, and left.

“I should be going,” I said. “I love you. I will miss you.”

“And you know that I love you,” my sister said. “Now hurry and get your things. Or something.”

I did as she said, and soon we boarded the ship and headed for Deepwood Port. Tansy, Maege, Gilly and the rest of our sisters saw us off, standing on the dock to wave until they were out of sight.

I saw little of the voyage; the ship heaved violently and I remained in the captain’s cabin, puking frequently into buckets. In my lucid moments I monitored the thoughts of Asha Greyjoy, Ran Loodey and the helmsman, seeking any sign of impending treachery, but none surfaced. Asha did her best to keep us alive and afloat, while she taught the crew new techniques for sailing in bad weather.

Lord Glover had arranged space for us in Deepwood Port’s inn; many of these establishments simply closed for the years of Winter lest guests eat all of their food. The crew visited the lone brothel, as these establishments never closed though once Winter set in the whores often demanded food as the price of their services. I inadvertently caught Ran Loodey’s thought that he had brought along an exceptionally fine smoked salmon just for this purpose.

I needed two days at the inn to recover from the sea voyage; my wonderful sisters and steward cleaned my clothes and furs. The small town stood under a blanket of snow that barely topped my ankles. The locals assured me that by mid-Winter it would stand over my head, but for the moment business continued and workers still dug foundations for the new port facilities and other buildings, knowing that the work might not be completed until years later.

On the morning of the third day, the five of us set out for Deepwood Motte on horses provided by House Glover. The road had been cleared of snow by passing traffic, and we had no trouble. The day was cold and clear, and we made it to the castle before nightfall.

Galbart Glover greeted us warmly. After we had bathed and changed into clean Mormont black leggings and tunics, he invited my sisters and I to his private “solar,” which had the glass windows prized by high lords and a very nice fire. Trisha accompanied us while Asha remained in our quarters; I monitored her thoughts which showed the rhythms of sleep.

“Not many travel in Winter,” Lord Glover said after greeting us and handing out goblets of heated wine. “Can you share your errand?”

“Glover men died at the Red Wedding,” I said, “Did they not?”

“Yes,” he said. “Many of our finest were slaughtered, and many good friends of mine from the king and Robin Flint to your sister Dacey.”

“And your feelings toward House Frey?” I asked.

“I want to kill them,” he said. “All of them.”

“This is our errand.” He nodded, having suspected that I might eventually undertake such a mission.

“What can I do, can my House do, to assist?”

“We plan to assault the Twins in the dead of winter, with my sisters and the entire Mormont Guard. To do so, I need more information about the castles. House Manderly has a prisoner raised there. We will go there and I will question him.”

“Ser Hosteen Frey,” Lord Glover said. “A Red Wedding participant, I believe.”

I felt my sister Lyra tense, and her fingers dug into my arm.

“Princess,” Lord Glover went on, “I would ask a favor, a tremendous favor. I would join you in this errand, with as many of our House Guard as you require. We have perhaps three hundred under arms; I’d name two hundred of those young, fully fit and well-trained. I don’t think we can raise many levies, if any, until spring.”

I nodded, thinking.

“You saw me fight the dragon.” Now he nodded.

“You know that I am very good at killing people.” He nodded again.

“I have not yet decided how we will attack, but my thoughts centered on doing so during a storm, during which I would climb the wall with two expert climbers of the Free Folk, and we would drop ropes to allow our own Guard to join us.”

“You’ll not try to carry the gates?”

“We have people who have passed through the Twins, and report that route to be a death trap.”

“I don’t need an answer now,” he said. “I understand you are still planning. But in your plans, please consider my men and I at your disposal whenever and wherever you decide.”

Two hundred more men could be useful, if for nothing else than to secure the area around the castle and prevent anyone escaping.

“If I may offer a suggestion?” Lord Glover asked. I nodded. “House Manderly is aware of your intentions?”

“Broadly so, but not that we are moving forward with them.”

“Winter travel is difficult. Perhaps you could ask them to bring Ser Stupid to Winterfell? The White Knife, the river leading north from White Harbor, rarely freezes and they can make most of their journey by boat.”

“Could we use your ravens?”

“Of course. It being Winter, we should send two.”

Robett and Sybelle Glover soon joined us for Evening Meal, and I explained my theory that a short Winter could be in the offing.

“You have noticed how quickly the days shortened?” I asked. “Compared to previous Winters?”

“I was but a thick-headed youth then,” Robett said. “You’d have to ask the maester, and I assure you he’s far less charming a dinner companion.”

“I do not doubt you,” I said, recalling the unpleasant Rolston. “I studied such things in my homeland, and believe there to be a chance we will see a brief Winter.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Lady Sybelle, who had become far friendlier upon learning that we would depart on the next day. “Women study as maesters in Sothoryos?”

“Most study of the natural world is done by women,” I said. “Art and literature as well.”

“And the men?” her husband asked.

“They fight, conduct business, and fight.”

“Yet you fight as well,” Lady Sybelle said.

“A princess is trained to fight,” I said truthfully, and then I lied. “But I was not a warrior in my homeland.”

“Then the actual fighters,” Galbart Glover said, “must be formidable indeed.”

“They are.”

“Princess,” Lady Sybelle looked at me questioningly, “how did Asha Greyjoy come to be in your service?”

“Do you know her?”

“She took me captive, along with my children.”

“She treated you properly?” I asked.

“We’re alive,” Lady Sybelle said. “No one molested us. But we were taken from our home.”

I paused, unsure how to answer without upsetting Beth Cassel.

“The Iron Born invaded Bear Island,” I said. “We met them in battle. We killed most of them, and the few remaining submitted. I executed Theon Greyjoy by my own hand. My sister Alysane added Asha Greyjoy to the House Guard so that we could keep watch on her.”

“Wise to kill Theon Turncloak,” Robett Glover said. “But not his sister?”

“I was unsure at the time,” I said, “but my sister Aly had known Asha during the campaign with Stannis Baratheon. She believed that we could accept her oath.”

“Has she kept it?” Lady Sybelle asked.

“She is skilled at navigating a ship through icy waters, and helped us arrive safely,” I said. “So far she has held to her oath.”

We left for Winterfell at first light; I had slept in the bed provided, along with my sisters and steward, and relegated Asha Greyjoy to the floor. She curled up in a fur without complaint.

At least for the first segment of our journey, the snow remained little more than ankle-deep and we rode without interruption except to walk our horses. We saw no other traffic, nor evidence of any except two fairly fresh sets of shod hoof-prints, one leading in each direction, and several older ones.

“Trust me yet?” Asha asked, riding alongside me.

“You have done as promised,” I said, “and fulfilled your oath.”

“You’ll yet be glad you let me live.”

“You were very helpful guiding our ship.”

“What would you know of that?” she laughed. “You were too busy puking.”

“It is my one weakness.”

“I think you’ve got at least two more,” she said, nodding toward my sisters riding ahead of us.

“No. They are my strength.”

“I’d hope to be so lucky.”

“What is it you seek?”

“At this moment,” she asked, “or in the longer term?”

“Longer term.”

“I can never go back to the Iron Islands; my uncle will flay my skin from my carcass. You took three of my ships. Rumor says the Lady wants to crew one as a warship. I see myself as its captain.”

“Raiding the Bay of Ice under the Mormont banner?”

“You watch me. On this journey, and at the Twins. Then see if you feel the same.”

“That is fair,” I said. I still did not detect deception, though she silently rebuked herself for sharing a fantasy she did not truly believe could become reality.

We arrived at an inn as the shadows lengthened, and Lyra pounded on its door. Eventually it cracked open and a middle-aged woman with a very red nose peeked out.

“She-Bears,” she said to someone inside. “Five of them.”

“Let them in,” a male voice said.

We entered, to find a man whose thoughts made him the innkeeper and two older children, one male and one female. Seeing our swords, he wondered if he had just made a fatal mistake.

“We would like a hot meal,” Lyra said. “And a room with a fire.”

“One room?”

“One room.”

Reluctantly, the innkeeper decided to provide what Lyra asked. I nodded to Beth and Asha, and they went to secure our horses. The innkeeper’s family moved slowly to begin preparing our meal – fried slices of the smoked ass of a pig, known as “ham,” and fried potatoes – but did not speak.

“We’ve stopped here many times in the past,” Lyra said, “and always received friendly greetings. Have you a problem with House Mormont?”

“Winter’s here,” the innkeeper said, “and food’s scarce.”

“You seem to have plenty,” I said. “And we have gold.”

“Can’t eat gold,” he answered. “And what seems plenty now won’t be in two, three years of this snow.”

Once again, I did not understand how the food would still be edible after three years of storage. I pushed that thought aside to track the thoughts of the family and determine whether they posed a threat to us.

Beth and Asha returned, apparently having avoided speaking to one another while caring for the horses. We all sat at a heavy wooden table for our meal; the innkeeper kept watch on us but did not join us or engage in conversation.

“Did you kill someone here?” Asha asked me, loud enough for the innkeeper to hear.

“I do not recall visiting this place,” I said. “I am very good at killing people, but I have not killed anyone along this road.”

“Then it’s not personal,” she said. “I suppose they’re simply uncouth.”

“You’re a judge of couth?” Beth finally spoke to Asha.

“Well, I was a queen,” she said. “If only briefly. And now you make me sleep on the floor.”

“If there is a second bed,” I said, “you may sleep in it.”

“Generous of you, Princess.”

There was indeed a second bed, and we allowed Asha to sleep there next to Trisha, who as usual instantly fell into deep sleep. Knowing my younger sister’s intense dislike for her, Asha pretended to wish to sleep alongside Beth instead.

* * *

We encountered less overt hostility in the other inns where we stopped, though Asha Greyjoy continued to annoy Beth Cassel. Asha found it amusing and did not care that Beth genuinely wished to kill her, counting on me to prevent my sister from acting on her impulses. Their mutual hostility meant that I rarely had opportunity to ride alongside Lyra, which disappointed me.

No fresh snow fell before we reached Winterfell; Lyra said we had been very fortunate. The guards at the gates greeted us warmly; my killing of the dragons had erased much of their anger toward me over the deaths of Sansa and Arya Stark. We stabled our horses, and I sent Trisha with Asha Greyjoy to arrange for baths for all of us in our chambers while my sisters and I sought out Davos Seaworth, the castellan of Winterfell. We found him in the castle’s solar surrounded by papers.

“Girls! No one told me you had arrived!”

“We told the guards that we knew the way,” I said.

“So you do. I merely wanted an excuse to be rid of all this. I should never have learned to read.” He gestured for us to sit and gave us wine. I enjoyed seeing him again, but he seemed ill at ease.

“A delegation from House Manderly,” he said, “is on its way here to meet with you.”

“I had hoped so,” I said. “We left Deepwood before they confirmed their willingness to come here.”

“They asked for a secure cell in the dungeons that would be guarded by their soldiers and yours.”

“We brought but two soldiers, but I would second the Manderlys’ request.”

“You know already,” the Onion Knight said, “that I’ll deny you nothing. But I’d ask who it is you plan to imprison in this castle I hold in trust.”

“You will speak of this to no one,” I said.

“No one.”

“A knight of House Frey. We will question him regarding the defenses of the Frey castle.”

“You plan to attack them?”

“We plan to kill them.”

“As you did aboard _Sweet Cersei_?”

“Aurane Waters threatened my sister. House Frey murdered the sister I never knew, Tansy’s niece Arya Stark, and the father of my steward and friend Trisha, who is here with us. I will carry out the will of my adoptive mother and kill them all.”

“They’re a barnacle on humanity’s . . . soul,” he almost said “ass” instead, but felt that he should not do so in front of women, “there’s no doubt. I’ll tell no one. You’ll find plenty of volunteers among the Winterfell Guard; I’ll not object if you choose to recruit them.”

He paused.

“You’ll dine with me tonight? You’ve not met my sons.”

“We would be honored,” I said.

“I’d hoped Lady Tansy might be with you.”

“She’s Hand to my mother,” Lyra said, “and remained to assist her with the final preparation for Winter. She sent her warmest regards.”

“I thank you,” Ser Davos said, “and please extend mine in return. And Lady Beth.” Beth looked up with interest.

“We don’t know one another well,” the Onion Knight said. “I hope you and I can change that. I know you grew up in this castle. I’ve had workers, even the garrison, working hard on repairs to prepare for Winter. Your old chambers had burned, but not completely. They found a number of belongings that I believe are yours and your father’s. I’ve had most of them placed in the chambers you girls regularly occupy.”

Still uneasy speaking to men she did not know, Beth simply nodded.

“But one item I wanted to give you myself, in private.”

He turned behind him and brought what was obviously a sword wrapped in soft cloth to his desk.

“Mollen believes this was your father’s. It was in the armory, racked with all the others but obviously not belonging there.”

She stood and walked behind the desk; Davos stood as well and unwrapped the sword.

“It is,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

She grasped him in an embrace, which he returned awkwardly; though Beth was the shortest of us, she was still taller than the Onion Knight.

“I wield a Valyrian sword,” she said. “Gifted me by Dejah. But I’ll treasure this blade as a memory of my father, and take it to Bear Island if that meets your approval.”

“It’s yours to take where you will,” Ser Davos said. “The island is now your home?”

“My home is with my sisters,” Beth said. “They’ve given me back what I lost here at Winterfell.”

* * *

We left Ser Davos and returned to our chambers, where Asha had found servants to bring a large bathtub and hot water. When we entered, Trisha had already bathed and sprawled across the wide seat before the fire, deeply asleep. Asha had placed herself inside the tub, lying back with her eyes closed.

“There’s room for one more,” she said, not opening her eyes.

“After I run her though,” Beth said, “the blood will foul the water.”

“You won’t kill me,” Asha said, her eyes still closed. She stretched to display her small, uneven breasts. “You still need me to sail your ship back to Bear Island.”

“I grew up here,” Beth said. “A Winter here wouldn’t be so bad. And we’d be rid of you.”

“You’ve got spirit. I like spirit. I might rather fuck you than I would the Princess. What say you? She’s too busy mooning over Lady Lyra to worry about us anyway.”

“I would rather fuck a pig.”

“That’s enough,” Lyra said. “Out of the water, then go get the maids to bring more.”

Asha considered a sharp reply, then decided she had done enough for the moment and did as Lyra commanded. As she left, Lyra pulled off her tunic, leggings and underclothing and slipped into the water.

“You two can have the fresh water,” she said. “Why don’t you see what we have to wear for dinner?”

I opened the doors of the small alcove known as a “wardrobe” and found my purple gown within, as well as the green gown Lyra had worn to the celebration after I killed the dragons. At least ten more gowns remained within, and surely one would fit Beth.

“I have one,” she said, showing me a gray gown with blue highlights within its folds. “Not sure it still fits me.”

She indicated several large wooden chests that had been stacked along one of the walls.

“Ser Davos must have sent these,” she said. “I can’t smell smoke on it. I’d like to wear it if I could.”

“I am no help,” I said. “And Lyra has never owned a gown.”

“I’ll tell you what to do,” she said. “Just don’t let the Iron Bitch touch me.”

Asha returned followed by several maids bearing empty buckets as well as others filled with hot water. They proceeded to empty the lukewarm bath water down the nearby privy, then fill the tub with fresh water. Trisha rose from her nap and stretched her arms.

“Pretty!” Asha said, fingering Beth’s gray gown. “You have one for me?”

“Take those fingers back,” Beth said, “or lose them.”

“You’ll wear your Mormont House Guard colors,” Lyra said, “and stand to outside the door.”

“Yes milady,” Asha answered, sarcastically. Trisha slapped her across the face and glared at her silently.

“We are informal,” Lyra said, “but not free of discipline. You are a soldier of House Mormont, sworn to obey its lady and all of her daughters.”

“I was too free,” she admitted. “I will not mistake my place again.”

“You’re gentry now,” Lyra said to Trisha. “So you get a choice. A gown, or House colors?”

“House colors,” she said. “I’ve never worn a gown.”

She deeply wished to, but did not wish to embarrass herself in front of me.

“You should wear a gown,” I said. “There is little opportunity for you to do so on Bear Island.”

Lyra found Sansa’s red gown and gestured for Trisha to remove her clothing. Beth and I disrobed as well and slid into the water; it felt very good on my skin. When we were clean, we dried ourselves and began to help one another into our gowns. Beth had much larger breasts than when she had last worn the gown, and had become somewhat taller and broader across the shoulders.

“Her tits are going to pop loose during the soup course,” Asha said. “Let me fix it.”

“You?” Beth asked; I did not need telepathy to know that she believed this another joke at her expense.

“I’m a sailor. All sailors have to sew.”

She took the needle and thread from Lyra and began to open a seam with a tiny cutting tool.

“I’ve tried them on,” she said. “But never really worn one of these. I couldn’t make any of this from scratch. But once you see where everything goes, it’s not difficult to alter it. And I get to touch her tits.”

“Watch your tongue,” Beth said. Asha stuck it out.

“I’m trying to help you. I could have remained silent, and let you give the Onion Knight’s family a real show.”

She continued to work silently.

“Serious question,” Asha asked. “How much tit do you want to show?”

“Less than Dejah,” Beth said. “But I’m not ashamed of them.”

Soon Beth had a neckline that showed cleavage, but covered her nipples.

“Keep it high in the back?”

“Don’t even think of lowering the back,” Beth snapped.

Asha held up her hands in a mock defensive posture, then poked her in the side with one finger.

“It’s tight here too. Should I let it out?”

“I’m fine.”

“Let me see you walk.”

Beth walked across the room.

“Sway your hips. Just a little.”

The gown’s skirts swished as Beth walked. Asha squatted to check their length.

“It’s a little shorter than probably intended,” she said. “But I’ve no notion of what to do about it. I could let out the skirt but I’m not sure how all the layers fit together. Other than that, I think we’re ship-shape. You can thank me later.”

She turned to Trisha.

“From too much tit to far too little,” she said. “The greenlanders wear what they call a corset under their gowns. Presses everything up and gives you nice big tits where there were none before.”

She looked through the clothing until she found what she sought.

“Put this on her,” she told Lyra, “under the gown. Laces go in the back. Lace them as tight as she can stand, then pull them tighter.”

“How do you know all this?” Beth asked her.

“Once upon a time, I was a princess, too. My mother insisted I at least know a little about princesses.”

“Stop,” Trisha gasped at Lyra, who was lacing the corset as Asha had instructed. “I can’t breathe. Leave it off.”

“These gowns are all cut for big tits,” Asha said. “Letting out’s one thing. Taking in’s another. It’s going to sag over the chest, and I can’t fix that.”

“Is there a maid,” I asked, “who would have these skills?”

“The one who helped us left with Lady Cerwyn,” Lyra said. “Lady Seaworth had none then, I doubt she would now.”

“Keep looking through the wardrobe,” Beth said to Lyra. “Sansa had more gowns than she could count.”

“Those would be in her chambers.”

We trooped down the hallway to Sansa Stark’s chambers, which were unlocked and unguarded.

“This feels like plundering,” Asha said. “I like it.”

“This is too much trouble,” Trisha said. “I can wear my green-and-blacks.”

“No,” I said. “You will share this experience with us.”

“What about me?” Asha asked.

“You will not.”

Beth found a dress of red silk, somehow not a “gown” by the definitions of these people, that Asha identified as coming from the land called Dorne. It was large enough to have fitted Sansa, and therefore fit Trisha as well. It was sheer, flowing in multiple layers, and it showed off her well-toned shoulders and abdomen as well as her legs; I would have gladly traded with her.

“This is all too much,” Trisha said, blushing. “I’m naught but a jumped-up Guardsman.”

“No,” Asha said. “These ladies all play at being warriors. It’s only fair to switch that around and let you play at being a lady.”

“We’ll brush out your hair,” Lyra said. “That blush is pretty on you. We’ll add some to your cheeks if we can find it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our next episode, Dejah Thoris encounters Ser Stupid.


End file.
